Twelve Dark Moons
by Sophiax
Summary: As a captive of Lord Voldemort, Luna Lovegood never thought she would live beyond the first 24 hours. Saved at first by her quick wit, Luna learns the depth of human evil…and becomes the Dark Lord’s greatest weakness. Eventually LVLL.
1. Nightrider

**Twelve Dark Moons**

**Summary:**

As a captive of Lord Voldemort, Luna Lovegood never thought she would live beyond the first twenty-four hours. Saved at first by her quick wit, Luna learns the depth of human evil…and becomes the Dark Lord's greatest weakness. Eventually LL/LV.

**Author's Notes:**

Much as I love the Hermione/TRLV pairing, I feel I have nothing to contribute to that field. So in the name of rare ships, let the SS Dark Moon set sail! Luna/Voldemort! I know its unconventional and kind of sick and weird, but interesting as Luna always is.This story will be almost an Arabian-Nights kind of thing, for those of you who know – Scheherazade had a good idea going there. I actually started writing this fic ages ago, but I'm just posting it now... had to make sure I wanted to finish it. And I certainly do.

This is rated M, for scenes of sex and violence later on, so if you don't like that kind of thing, don't read it.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does.

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Nightrider**

Luna Lovegood walked through the Forbidden Forest. She knew it was forbidden, and it was dark and creepy and cold, too. She knew there were things in the forest, creatures like werewolves and acromantulae and snaggle-toothed hags. Luna did not mind.

She was on a quest tonight, not for herself but for the organisation to which she belonged. In the year after her graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the woven threads of her life led her to join the Order of the Phoenix. It was a natural offshoot for Luna after she belonged to the student group calling themselves Dumbledore's Army, that rebel band of Defence Against the Dark Arts learners. They had been Luna's friends. A smile worked across her face at the thought, and a pleasant heat seeped into Luna's chest. It was so nice to have friends.

Together they were a unit, working against the forces of the evil Lord Voldemort. Ever since Headmaster Dumbledore was murdered two years ago, Harry Potter had taken up the mantle of young leadership, and he and Ron and Hermione were always off on some quest or other. Sometimes Luna felt left out of their plans, but most of the time she was grateful for the chance to contribute. Even for a free spirit such as herself, it felt good to be tied down to a commitment, like a balloon on a string.

Her feet crunched through the leaves on the forest floor, soft and still retaining the warmth of daytime. Light tendrils of mist floated along in front of her, moving out of the way for her slight, robed figure. She wore a black cloak lined with red silk; she took a fancy to it after Ginny Weasley's father gave her a Muggle book entitled 'Little Red Riding Hood.' Would she meet a wolf tonight? Luna hoped not. Professor Lupin was a werewolf and that was quite enough for her.

No, Luna was not after wolves or anything else dangerous. Tonight she sought that most elusive of creatures, the unicorn. The Order needed more unicorn hairs, with their magical protective qualities, and the markets in Diagon Alley were closed for the most part. None of the shopkeepers wanted to meet the fate of Ollivander, or Fortescue, or Borgin. The Forbidden Forest outside the now-closed Hogwarts School was one of the only known places in Britain where unicorns still resided.

Luna had been warned that the Forest was more unsafe than ever. The centaur herd was out of control without Hagrid to appease them, and the other creatures sensed the lawlessness as well. Hagrid himself was busy training his giant half-brother Grawp in magical combat, for use in the war, and so it was left to another volunteer to venture into the domain of unicorns. Luna was happy to do it. Her steps were light and her breath shallow, her head off in the sky. The other creatures would not be bothered by her presence.

She was the only young member of the Order to qualify for unicorn hair-gathering; the unicorn responded best to the maiden.

Neither Ginny Weasley nor Hermione Granger fit that description; Ginny and Harry had been going together for two years, unwilling to put off their romance for what was shaping up to be a drawn-out conflict. And Hermione and Ron Weasley had declared their love for one another after an intense battle with Death Eaters a year ago in the streets of Hogsmeade. The brush with death had made everyone reevaluate their priorities, and to the vast relief of the rest of the Order, the famous bickering couple had found another way to release their mutual tension.

There was Neville Longbottom, of course. He was a boy, but Luna was also certain he was a maiden one. Neville's gentle nature was endearing and his inner resolve unshakeable, but he had yet to find romance with any but his adored Mimbulus Mimbletonia plant. Luna would be willing to kiss him, out of curiosity, but she had trouble mustering the healthy lust of a twenty-year-old, not just toward Neville but toward anyone. Her realm was the clouds, the mind, dreams and thoughts and wind. Earthy passion was not Luna's style.

Somewhere nearby, an owl hooted, its call hovering through the cool night air. Luna paused in her stride then continued on. She had no rhyme or reason to her search for a unicorn, but rather let her intuition take her feet where they would. A Weird Sisters tune played in her head, and Luna made up her own words to it. 'Into the forest I go, what trees hide I don't know, I like ice cream and drifts of sno-oow!' Luna's whispered singing was barely audible, even to herself.

She twirled her wand in her slender fingers, enjoying the way it whirled in the half moonlight that filtered down through the trees. If she moved her fingers just fast enough – there – the wand looked like a solid circle. How fun! For a moment she stopped walking and practised twirling. Then she practised drawing her wand from her robes, holstering it, drawing it again. It was important to be quick on the draw.

With remembrance of her initial task in the forest, Luna did an abrupt turn to her right and took off walking that way. 'Unicorn!' she called softly. Her voice disappeared into the trees.

A flash of white ahead. Luna paused. Had she been answered? She reached out and touched the smooth bark of a leafy tree. She took two steps forward. 'Unicorn?'

The young unicorn clopped into view, its hooves patting down the forest floor. It looked at her out of liquid silver eyes, the exact shade of Luna's own. The creature radiated innocence and light, and the air around it seemed to shimmer.

'Are you a boy unicorn or a girl unicorn?' Luna asked, extending her hand in friendship.

The unicorn drew back a little, then allowed Luna to pet its velvety nose. It gave no indication as to gender and Luna felt funny about peering at its underbelly to determine it. She ran her hand along its head, gentle as a feather, and brushed the fabulous spiraled horn that extended out of its forehead. The tip was deadly sharp, she knew; they had learned about unicorns in Care of Magical Creatures, one of Luna's favorite classes.

'May I take some hairs from your tail?' Luna asked. She was not sure if the unicorn understood human-talk, but there had to be a way to gain permission. To her delight and surprise, the unicorn whinnied and turned, stomping its two back feet. It stood still, and Luna ran her fingers through the exquisite cascade of ponytail hair. Then, with even more delight, Luna felt a good twenty hairs detach themselves at will and fall into her hand like a pile of moonlight spaghetti.

'Thank you,' she murmured. It was important to talk to creatures as equals. She had learned that when she met the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in Sweden while traveling with her father.

The unicorn whinnied once more and turned back around, nudging Luna with its nose. It seemed a gesture of affection, and Luna patted it and rubbed its ears. All animals liked that. The unicorn rewarded her with a final nuzzle, then looked at her. She stared; did it have tears in its eyes? Yes, a little drop of a tear gathered at the corner of the creature's silver eye, then slid down the soft coat of its cheek.

Instinctively Luna wiped away the trace of the tear, and the unicorn blinked. It shook its head once, then fast and silent it galloped off back into the forest from whence it had come. She looked after it for a moment, then shrugged and pocketed the precious bundle of unicorn hair.

Now, to find her way back out of the forest... Luna was hopeless with directions and even if she cast the spell to show her true north, she had no idea whether the closest edge of the forest was east, west, north, or south. That did not matter, for Luna had a better idea. With a whisper and a small jet of indigo light from her wand, she leaned against a tree and waited.

Five minutes later, the fluttering of leather wings disturbed the air above her head, and Luna looked up. It was her Thestral, once part of the magical herd that pulled the Hogwarts carriages. For some reason, the Thestrals were very loyal to Luna, and this one took a particular shine to her. She named him Abacus, because he made a funny clicking noise with his teeth. Like a Chinese abacus. For two years the Thestral had followed Luna into battle as a member of the Order. More than once, the timely arrival of the dark winged horse had pulled her out of danger.

Abacus set down on the ground and pawed at the dirt, waiting for Luna to get on. She swung her leg up and over his bony back and onto the embroidered cloth saddle she had fixed. 'To the Order headquarters,' Luna directed. For what Luna lacked in directional sense, Abacus made up for, and he always took her where she needed to go. They lifted up into the sky and swooped forward, keeping low over the forest. Luna murmured concealment charms to prevent Muggles and Death Eaters alike from spotting them in flight.

'Have you had a nice day, Abacus?' Luna asked the Thestral. It never talked back to her, but that was all right with Luna. She could imagine what his response would be.

'_Yes, Luna, I had a nice day. I ate some fresh grass and drank some cool water. I am glad we are flying, I like to fly_,'Abacus would say.

'I'm glad for you,' Luna said. 'I like to chew on fresh grass sometimes, too.' This was true; she also liked to put a blade of grass between her palms and make it sing.

Beneath them, the nighttime lights of Britain glowed, and Luna had fun making constellations out of the human lights. They had a long way to go, to London from Scotland, and although Thestrals were fast in the air it would take at least an hour at high altitude. When the wind whipped through her robes too hard, Luna cast an Imperturbable Charm and then a warming spell, creating a nice cocoon of comfort. Below her, Abacus snorted in appreciation.

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix was a new and improved Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Luna remembered when they first moved there, when Harry inherited it from the late Sirius Black, also known as Stubby Boardman. Sometimes Luna marveled that Harry had such famous friends like that renowned singer. In any case, 12 Grimmauld had been a moth-eaten, hexed piece of property with a funny smell and few comforts. Luna had almost liked it that way; it had character. Now it was practically a Gryffindor common room, reds and golds and warm fires blazing in the hearths. Luna preferred deep, soft colours like purple, silver, or green. Colours of the night sky.

Anyway, it was home for now. She still stayed with her father for holidays and made visits at least once a month, but he kept busy with the wartime Quibbler, ever-popular since that famous interview with Harry. It was nice to feel independent, and Luna liked watching the camaraderie of the Order headquarters from her favourite leather armchair in the front sitting room, the only piece of furniture that was green.

The terrain sped past below her, and from between her knees Luna felt Abacus begin his descent toward the heavy cream glow of London lights. They circled down in a spiral and Luna brought out her wand as she alighted from the back of the Thestral onto the sidewalk of Grimmauld Place. 'Thanks, Abacus,' she said. With a swish, she conjured him a shortbread biscuit, his favourite. 'You can rest now.' One final pat on the head, and Abacus took off again, disappearing over the rooftops. When he was not chauffeuring Luna or serving the Order, Abacus grazed in Hyde Park.

She said the correct charmed password and the great narrow hulk of Number 12 squeezed in between the other townhouses, popping into view. Luna ascended the stairs and went in the door, quiet as she could. They were still unable to remove that big old screaming portrait of Stubby's mother. It was covered with a heavy velvet curtain, and the woman must have another portrait somewhere else because she was usually absent from the frame. Sometimes, however, Mrs. Black reappeared to shout and huff and disturb the peace.

Tonight, the front hall was empty, and Luna brought out the unicorn hairs to take to the kitchen. That was the main gathering place, as kitchens tend to be, and then she might learn the ultimate purpose of her night's task.

For a curious girl like Luna, the whys and hows were important. She sought the occult, the hidden things in life, the details that others overlooked. She saw patterns and songs in everything, and each thing grasped her attention only to be overwhelmed by the next wonder.

In the Order of the Phoenix, however, the members rarely knew everything. The enforced ignorance was not haphazard or mean-spirited; rather, it was for the grim reason that someone who didn't know, couldn't tell. Lord Voldemort could not glean information via torture or Veritaserum or Legilimency when the information did not exist inside the captive's mind. Luna understood this, but still her head spun with the details of what she observed and she wove colourful tapestries of events in her mind. Whether they were true or not, she would never know.

In the kitchen, Luna found Harry, Ginny, Lupin, and Tonks. They clustered around a pile of parchment, Harry pointing and gesturing.

'Greetings,' said Luna.

The four looked up. Luna already felt like a fifth-wheel. Oh well. People tended to pair off, especially in dangerous times.

'Did you find the unicorn?' Harry asked.

'It was such a beautiful night,' said Luna. 'And clear, for flying with Abacus. Do you know, I believe songs are infectious?' At the blank, impatient stares, Luna got back on track. 'Oh, and here are the unicorn hairs,' she said, bringing out the handful of shining white strands.

'Yesss,' Harry said. 'Thanks, Luna.'

'Mmm!' she said.

'You didn't run into trouble in the Forest, did you?' Lupin asked, looking at her with concern.

Luna smiled to alleviate the former professor's worry. He was such a kind man. She was glad he found someone to love, in spite of being a werewolf. 'No problems at all,' she said. 'I like the Forbidden Forest.'

'She's a closet Gryff,' Ginny said.

'Luna, I don't know if you're brave or just barmy!' Tonks added, grinning.

'I don't think I'm brave,' said Luna. The others started to laugh out loud, and Luna was not sure why. That happened a lot, when she said things and people laughed. Luna was glad to make others laugh, even if she did not understand why. A little more light in the darkness was a good thing; a little more joy in a world of tears. And the laughter of her fellow Order members was never mean or harsh or mocking, as had been the case with many of her Hogwarts classmates. 'What are the hairs for?' she asked.

Harry shook his head. 'You don't want to know,' he said, with a wry smile.

'You know how it is,' Tonks said.

'Even I don't know,' Ginny said with a look of happy empathy.

'All right, then,' Luna said, and sighed. 'I think I might sleep now.'

'Good night!' the others chorused.

The once-rickety staircase to the upstairs floors was now carpeted in the predictable red, and Luna took off her shoes to climb barefoot. She hated wearing shoes with their constricting form, unless they were fun and sparkly or colourful. Tonight's shoes were plain black to go with her black skirt, black jumper, black cloak. Only the red satin lining of her cloak gave a splash of interest, and this she swung off to hang upon the hook inside her bedroom door on the second floor.

The house had been magically expanded, added on to accommodate a greater number of Order members. Harry, as the owner, was a permanent occupant, as were Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. Lupin and Tonks stayed here, as did Aberforth Dumbledore, the Headmaster's elderly brother. Luna suspected that Abe, as they called him, was actually the long-lost Irish Minister of Magic, who disappeared in the wild west country of Clare after an incident of fraternisation with a banshee, but she never told anyone of this thought. The other bedrooms in Number 12 rotated between the many guests and safety-seekers. For a time, Draco Malfoy and his mother had lived here before being shuffled away to France; others included Madame Malkin of the robe shop and Hermione Granger's Muggle parents.

As she disrobed for bed, Luna contemplated her day. Ginny thought she should be a Gryffindor, but was that true? She did not consider herself brave, because to be brave was to overcome fear. Most of the time, Luna never felt afraid to begin with. She did not see danger in the world the way others did and even death did not frighten her. Luna knew that her dead mother was somewhere else, a better place, and she never doubted it. If she should die, then there was a familiar face already on the other side.

As for the rest of the horrors that might confront a human being, Luna had never held phobias for creatures, or darkness, or heights. In her opinion, most things weren't scary, they were just misunderstood. The only thing in the world with a capacity for true evil action was the human being, and that too was often misunderstood. 'Love the sinner, hate the sin.' Luna had heard those words somewhere, and they stuck. No one could be pure evil, just as every cloud had a lining and even the darkest night held stars.

Then, she understood Tonks's words, and why they had laughed: Luna had implied she was not brave, but barmy. 'Hmm,' she said, tilting her head back and forth. There was no one to see.

She hummed a little tune, a different one from the Weird Sisters song.

In her nightgown, Luna approached the face-mirror on the vanity table and sat down. The mirror was silent of comment today, and she regarded herself in the glinting reflection. Large grey eyes in a heart-shaped face. A fringe of thick dark blonde lashes, at contrast with her long light hair. A small but well-formed mouth. She appeared older these days; the round cheeks of girlhood had faded into more gaunt cheekbones, but that was likely the effect of the war. Sometimes she went days without eating properly, not on purpose but out of distraction. Luna was tall for a girl, five-foot eight, and bordered on skinny, but settled for svelte with her languid posture.

Many people accused Luna of not caring for her appearance. The opposite was the case. Luna thought of her body and face as a palette for creativity, and fashion an opportunity to express herself. She could not wait to get a tattoo, but she had trouble deciding what she wanted. Perhaps it would be best to get the finest wizarding tattoo, the kind that could be charmed to any appearance. Then she could have a new design every day, or every hour. Her taste in clothing may have been eclectic, but it was not careless. She put great care into her feather earrings, her handbags made of Chocolate Frog wrappers, her necklaces of bottle-caps and silver spoons and chunky stones.

Luna turned back the covers of her bed and did her series of pre-dream stretches. They were based on research by a man named Lazarus Temple, whom her father had interviewed for the Quibbler. He said that doing these stretches allowed for astral travel and precognitive dreams, to unlock the Seer within. Luna did them religiously.

As she finished the series of Seer Stretches, Luna pulled back her long blonde hair and tied it into a loose knot for sleeping. Her hands then hugged her flat stomach, and she pinched in her waist, letting her arms go akimbo. She stood on her tiptoes for a second, then leaped into bed and snatched the covers up to her neck, to keep out Invisible Bed Fliers. Otherwise they might sneak in and lift up the covers in the night, leaving her cold. This seemed the type of house to have an infestation of them.

Uncharacteristic for Luna, she had a nightmare that night. A dark shape chased her through a forest of silver trees, and although she ran and ran, it gained on her. Luna did not know what would happen when the dark thing caught up, but it would be bad. In the dream, she wore a white shift that caught and snagged and tore on the sharp branches of the trees. When she looked down at the gaping rips in the dress, the cloth bled bright red around the edges.

She awoke with a start at four in the morning, and did not have time to contemplate her dream before falling back into her sleep, the second half of which was free of such disturbing images. When the sun filtered through the curtains at Luna's second awakening, she rose from her bed, sure to let her right foot touch the carpet first.

It was best to start the day on the right foot, especially when you were a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

* * *

**A/N:** I shall take this opportunity to say a word about the frequency of my updates. I'll add new chapters whenever I can, but it won't be as frequent as my other stories were. Sorry about that! I'll try to post a new update at least within every three weeks or so. However, you have my ever-holding promise that once the story starts, it WILL be finished -- I don't abandon stories. Even if they get put on hold. Cheers for your patience and please read, review, enjoy! 


	2. Butterfly in a Net

**Author's Notes: **Thanks to my reviewers so far: _The Enchanted Teakettle, Pussin Boots, Ravenfeather42, _and _Mornan_.

In this chapter, things start to look bad for Luna and the Order. I wanted to post this as soon as possible, that's why it's out early -- I'm making an effort! I'll note here that I'm making an assumption about the destruction of Horcruxes -- that, once they're found, the Trio has to be careful about how to dispose of them. They might have enchantments or traps built in, and that's why (in this story) there's a lag time between finding the Horcrux and actually destroying it. This will become more important later.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**Butterfly in a Net**

'It's a big day ahead,' said Harry Potter. He wore the bright red robes of an Auror, as well as the gold phoenix-shaped badge that denoted a member of the Order. His hair stood up like a shock of black and Luna could see the infamous scar in its angry shape on his forehead. 'We've all noticed the increasing boldness of the Death Eaters. Voldemort,' (everybody winced) 'has consolidated his forces and he's gone on the offensive.' Harry looked to Hermione Granger to continue the briefing.

'We've found an important artefact,' Hermione said. 'The cup belonging to Helga Hufflepuff.'

Luna tilted her head, half-listening. Last year, the Trio had put the Order on alert for strange magical artefacts, especially antiquities associated with the founders of Hogwarts. They gave no reasons, as it was another one of those 'need-to-know' basis things, but they breached their tight triplet of security to enlist the others' awareness. Ginny seemed to know what it was about (Luna suspected pillow-talk, a term she had always loved, as it sounded so light and soft) but the rest of the Order asked no questions as to the treasure hunt.

'Soon we will be able to go after Voldemort directly,' Hermione continued. 'In the meantime, we must protect our territory. Our inside source indicates that the next Death Eater attack might occur on Beauxbatons Academy, which is still open.'

Murmured disapproval sounded around the room. It was a low blow to attack students, but Headmistress Maxime's known allegiance to Dumbledore guaranteed the insecurity of her school. Furthermore, Death Eater activity had spread to the European continent like a stain of dark ink, seeping into wizarding communities everywhere. The scope of the war was widening by the month.

'The French Ministry is aware of the threat,' said Harry, 'but typically, they're being slow to act. We need to consider sending a contingent to protect Beauxbatons and maybe capture some Death Eaters. On such a large-scale attack, Voldemort will send at least one ringleader. If we can catch a big fish, like Bellatrix Lestrange or Fenrir Greyback, then…' Harry grinned, and it looked vicious.

Luna shivered. She did not like magical combat, but she could hold her own.

Bill Weasley raised a hand. 'What kind of numbers are we talking about, to defend Beauxbatons?'

Luna looked at Bill for a moment as he asked the question. She was sure she was alone in thinking the terrible scars across his once-handsome face actually suited his rugged personality. But then, Luna's idea of beauty was different from other people's.

'I think at least twenty of us, to add to the natural defences of the school,' Ron Weasley spoke up, also in the bright red robes that made his carrot-coloured hair look ridiculous.

As soon as he said it, Luna knew she would be among the defence team. Time was like a road, and sometimes the road was clear ahead, and other times foggy. Luna preferred fog.

'What's the date of the expected attack?' asked an elderly man named Daedalus Diggle.

'Two days from now, according to the source,' said Hermione.

For a moment, Luna wondered about this mysterious 'source' inside Voldemort's camp. Hermione especially cited him or her often, and the Order always acted on what the 'source' said, to their benefit. Luna imagined it was a dangerous position, to balance what the Order knew against what Voldemort suspected. A light of dawning realization crossed Luna's face: she knew who the source must be! It must be one of those Animagi! Perhaps the person turned into a tiny bug, and flew around Voldemort's head and listened to his orders, and then reported back. That made sense, especially after that reporter, Rita Skeeter, was a bug. She could not be the only witch in the world able to turn into an insect.

Luna then wondered what she would be if she were a bug. A butterfly, or no, one of those white and black lacy sphinx moths with the pretty antennae. But would she turn into a bug if she were an Animagus? Luna doubted it. She would want to be a bird, flighty and free but with bones inside her body.

The meeting dispersed from the big front sitting room, and Luna took her lunch with Ginny. She liked Ginny Weasley a lot. Ginny had been a friend to her, and defended her against the teasing that accompanied Luna's experience at Hogwarts. Luna had only gotten to know Ginny well in third year, since for the first two years at school the redhead had been shy and withdrawn. Luna knew of Voldemort's diary and its possession of Ginny, because she paid attention more than people gave her credit for.

They were alike, then, Ginny and Luna: both had seen things that should have been above their young eyes.

'I want to be on the team at Beauxbatons,' said Ginny, as they sat at the big kitchen table. She stabbed a slice of tomato with her fork.

'Will you be?' asked Luna.

'Dunno. Harry always tries to protect me. But I'm one of the best duellers,' said Ginny.

'I think he prefers you as a girl,' Luna said.

Ginny looked at her, startled. Then she laughed. 'That's true.'

Luna looked down at her own plate of chips, lightly salted. She did not hold an appetite today, but that was usual. Luna ate like a bird, little bits and nibbles at a time, and she never was able to sit down for a whole, heavy meal. She got distracted from hunger by other thoughts and concerns, and eating seemed such a dense thing to do. Surely a true witch would able to transcend the need for common sustenance.

In spite of herself, she picked up a chip and bit down on it, chewing thoughtfully. 'I'll take Abacus with me to France. I think he'll like it, don't you?'

'I'm sure he will,' said Ginny. Her tone bordered indulgent, and like the wave of an unpleasant smell, the thought occurred to Luna that everyone looked down on her. Even her friends in the Order of whom she was such a keen observer did not see the knowledge behind Luna's eyes, the method behind the madness. Luna was not crazy, nor was she as absent-minded as everyone seemed to think. She just looked at things in a different way, from a higher-up vantage point. The world was magic to Luna Lovegood, and she saw no reason to disguise her wonder, her curiosity, her unique mind.

'Do you know who the 'source' is?' Luna asked.

'Nope,' said Ginny, shaking her head. Ginny could have been lying, but Luna did not think so. She had been lied to many times by people her own age, and by now she could tell when someone was untruthful with her. There were little signs: a darting of the eyes, a clench of the fingers, a moment's hesitation before answering. Ginny showed none of these telltale indications, but Luna also knew Ginny was a very good liar. 'I keep trying to get Harry to tell me, but he clams up about it,' Ginny said.

'Oh well,' said Luna. That further strengthened her theory about the buzzing insect Animagus. Perhaps it was Harry himself! Luna sometimes thought he could pass for a bug, with those fun shiny eyeglasses. How extraordinary!

'Yeah, it's probably best not to know,' said Ginny. 'It makes it that much easier to play dumb and pay attention.' She flashed Luna a wicked grin, and Luna smiled back.

They finished lunch and Hermione Granger came into the kitchen, a large roll of parchment in her hands. 'The roster for the Beauxbatons team,' she said. 'I've posted the official copy in the sitting room.'

'Am I on it?' Ginny asked.

Hermione sighed with her familiar impatience. 'No.'

'I knew it,' Ginny grumbled. 'Hermione, can't you tell Harry I'm not a porcelain doll?'

Hermione quirked her lips up. 'Guys. You know how they can be. Besides, there's something more important coming up than this Beauxbatons thing. If Voldemort is sending a bulk of his forces there, it will be a perfect time for us to go on the offensive. We have an even more important job to do.'

'Oh!' Ginny said, brightening up.

'You know what I mean,' Hermione added meaningfully.

'So you think one of his –'

'Never mind!' Hermione snapped, glancing over at Luna.

Luna regarded the bushy-haired girl with cool eyes. Hermione Granger was quite self-important in her knowledge, Luna felt. She was quick to judge and slow to change her mind. Every time Luna had a good idea, Hermione shot it down, unless it was a super-good idea and someone else spoke up to advocate it, like Ginny or Harry or Professor Lupin. But Luna did not get hard feelings. She held no grudge against Hermione, and unless Luna could be Hermione for a day and see what it was like, there was no place for judgment.

True to her intuition, Luna saw her name printed on the Beauxbatons roster upstairs. She was one of a list of eighteen Order members, including Tonks, Neville Longbottom, Bill and Fleur Weasley, Charlie Weasley, and Professor McGonagall. They would leave tomorrow. Since inter-continental Apparition was not easily done, the Order would travel by the Floo Network into Beauxbatons Academy, except for Luna who planned to take Abacus. That night, the team met to discuss their strategy, the layout of Beauxbatons for those who had never seen it, and to review their protocols.

'We aim to capture, not kill,' said Mad-Eye Moody, the team leader. Luna loved to watch his magical eye spin in its merry way. 'Although, if you kill a Death Eater, no one will think the worse of you.' He cleared his throat and gave an unpleasant expression of mirth as though he would much rather kill a Death Eater than capture one. 'Teams of two, remember. The buddy system.'

Neville, next to Luna, nodded resolutely. They were always partners on missions.

Together they looked over the map of Beauxbatons. They agreed to take the position in the forest. Luna liked forests, so she was pleased with the decision. She felt confident with Neville, and they had worked together so often over the past two years that there was little need for chattering conversation. When Luna made her peculiar observations, Neville just listened, and that was all Luna wanted. He was one of her closest friends.

By the time they were ready to leave for Beauxbatons Academy, the other Order members had dispersed on other missions, leaving 12 Grimmauld Place nearly empty. Luna had bid goodbye to Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, none of whom indicated where they were going. That was yesterday, and today Luna packed a small knapsack with enough clothes for the three days she expected to be gone in France. To her satchel she added a rope of fresh garlic, as everyone knew there were vampires in the south of France. She also put in a sprig of preserved mint, because she liked the smell, and a little hand-opening fan made of sandalwood. She took her favourite red high heels, and around her neck she wore a burnished silver skull medallion that her father brought her from Tibet. It was from an ancient wizarding family there, a gift to the Lovegood family, and it brought good luck for meeting one's true destiny.

The Order convened in the sitting room. They would go one-by-one through an instantaneously-opened Floo connection direct into the Beauxbatons castle. Madame Maxime would be waiting for them. Luna, as the only exception, waited until half the team was gone in the green flames before she floated out the front door and summoned Abacus with the jet of indigo light.

True as ever, the Thestral showed up in a few moments' time, and snorted with delight as Luna procured a handful of sugar cubes for him. His soft velvet nose nuzzled her hand in search of the tasty sweet squares, and Luna patted the deathly horse on the head. 'We're going to France today, Abacus,' she told him. 'Beauxbatons Academy.'

He pawed at the concrete, acknowledging the destination. Luna mounted the black creature and they were off into the sky, concealed and free.

* * *

_September, the Harvest Moon

* * *

_

It was a clear day across Europe, and the top of the sky was painted with the merest wisps of white clouds. The sun shone through the little ripples of white, bathing the land in the orange heat of autumn. Luna and Abacus swooped around through the air, enjoying their ride, and Luna sang songs aloud, her voice carrying away from her at the high speed of flight. It took two hours to reach their destination, and Abacus whinnied in his strange, reedy tones as they veered down toward the magnificent white chateau that housed the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

Luna felt the pressure of waves of anti-Apparition wards around the school, and they slowed down to get through the barriers. Luna alit from Abacus's back in front of the tall front doors of the school, and Mad-Eye Moody met her there.

'I don't know why you insist on doing everything differently, Miss Lovegood,' Moody growled. His spinning eye regarded the Thestral with mistrust.

'Abacus is very loyal,' said Luna. 'And he likes to fly, so when else would I get to exercise him?'

'Hmm,' Moody said. 'Come on, then. Longbottom's waiting for you.'

'You can go off and graze now, Abacus,' Luna said to her Thestral. 'I'll call you if I need you. Thanks for the lift!'

With interest, Luna looked around the halls of the school as she and Moody walked along. It was very elegant, all white and blue and gold. Several pieces of priceless antique furniture dotted the corridors, along with cases full of shining trophies and student awards. Luna wondered what it would have been like to go to school here. Back in third year, when the Beauxbatons students had imposed on the hospitality of Ravenclaw House during the Tri-Wizard tournament, Luna's impression had been that they were snobby. But perhaps that was because the exchange students were all in sixth and seventh year, and older students always intimidated.

Now, the school corridors were empty, but Luna knew there were students on the grounds. It was the only wizarding school open in Europe, since Hogwarts had closed and Durmstrang had been converted into a Death Eater training camp. They met up with the rest of the Order in the vast dining hall, a room with pale wood parquet floorboards and tall arched windows.

'The source said that the attack might take place tonight,' said Minerva McGonagall, who stood dwarfed by the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, Madame Maxime. 'Therefore, the students will be in lockdown, protected by French Ministry Aurors. Our job is to patrol the grounds and try to capture the spearhead of the Death Eater attack.'

Luna then realised who McGonagall reminded her of: Hermione Granger. They were alike in manner and mind, rational and rule-abiding and sharp. Luna sat back, satisfied, and twirled a lock of her long hair with her fingers.

'Be on the ready,' added Moody. 'If our theory is right, and one of the top lieutenants shows up to lead the attack, then I want them alive! You all know why!' He made an incoherent growling noise, like a mad dog. Luna felt that Moody was unnecessarily enthusiastic about using Unforgivable Curses on Death Eaters.

For several hours, Luna and Neville wandered the grounds, wands brandished. All was silent in the soft French countryside. Their task was to guard part of the forest, and to be in place by eight in the evening. They took their time wandering around, and Neville pointed out all sorts of interesting plants to Luna. 'That's the Speaking Sparrowroot,' he said, indicating a small, closed up flower. 'It only talks during the full moon. It's governed by lunar cycles.' 

'Like me!' said Luna. Her fingers found the skull medallion around her neck, and she moved it to and fro, thinking of her father and how her parents had named her after the big pretty disc that glowed in the night sky.

'We should get to our post,' said Neville.

'Mmm,' said Luna. Her feet took her wandering toward the beech forest. In her pocket, she felt her satchel that had been Reduced to miniature for the journey. She had forgotten to put it away in her guest room. Twilight turned to night in a matter of moments, and the near-full moon rose to illuminate their way with little dancing white patches on the forest floor. Luna thought of Professor Lupin, who must be getting antsy at this time of the month. He was almost like a woman, she thought, with his monthly debilitations, and Luna decided that Tonks must be fortunate to have a man who understood what it was like.

As she and Neville walked through this other school forest, like and yet unlike their own Forbidden Forest, Luna was overcome with a sense of déjà vu. Normally she relished the sensation, and for her it was common. She got the peculiar 'time ahead of itself' feeling quite often, at least once a week. Tonight, however, the impression of looming inevitability overwhelmed Luna.

'Stop,' she said to Neville. All was silent apart from their breath, in the beech forest made silver by moonlight.

'What is it, Luna?' Neville asked. He sounded concerned.

'I don't know,' she said. 'I have déjà vu.'

'Oh,' he said.

'Where are the others?' she asked. Luna had lost track of where they were, relative to the rest of the Order.

'Well, Tonks and Charlie Weasley are over there,' Neville said, pointing through the forest. 'At least,' he squinted, 'they _were_ there. I can't see them.'

Luna fell silent, listening. She could hear nothing, but her internal alarm sounded danger. The feeling of déjà vu intensified. Luna took a deep breath and tried to focus, to tap into the precognition and see what was about to happen. In a moment, Neville would trip over a root and stumble. Luna would ask if he was all right. There would be a scream, far away, then a pop, and then a group of masked terrors materialising in the night…

'Oh!' she sighed.

'Let's check up on the others,' Neville suggested. They kept walking through the forest. 'Ooomph!' Neville said, falling forward a little with the snap of a twig.

'Are you all right?' Luna asked, despising the foreknowledge. She gripped her wand tighter.

'Yeah,' said Neville.

One moment later, they heard a scream through the trees. Luna never discovered who it was. With a pop, and another pop, and another, the forest filled with dark hooded figures that advanced in a circle on Luna and Neville. There were so _many_ of them, at least fifty, and with a sinking dread Luna realised they did not stand a chance. Even if the other members of the Order repelled the attack, she and Neville would be casualties.

'Luna!' Neville said. The panic was in his voice, for even in their combat experiences, they had never been so outnumbered by the Death Eaters.

'Is that Longbottom?' a woman's voice cackled.

Luna's heart raced, and she watched, frozen, as the forest was blackened by the cloaked Death Eaters, stark against the white-silver sheen of the beech bark. Her blood pulsed through her veins, so hard that Luna was amazed her skin did not burst apart with the pressure. She was not so worried for herself, but she did not want anything bad to happen to Neville. He was her friend, and very few people counted as Luna Lovegood's friends. They were rare and precious to her.

With a quick mutter of an incantation, Luna sent up the indigo light that would summon Abacus, if he was not already on his way to them. The Thestral had its own queer sense of Luna's emotional state, and her fear would draw him to her.

'Get them,' said one of the Death Eaters.

Then the forest exploded into wild jets of light, screamed curses hurled this way and that, shields and hexes and Stunning spells that ricocheted through the trees. In some vague part of her mind, Luna was aware that Tonks and Charlie had shown up, and she hurled Protego spells around herself and Neville in anticipation of reinforcements. An Imperius Curse flew through the air towards her, and she dodged it with millimeters to spare.

'_Avada Kedavra!_' she heard one of the Death Eaters scream. A terrible green glow filled the air and Luna watched as it went toward Neville…

'No!' she shouted. She reached out and yanked Neville out of the way.

'Stupefy!' Neville retorted back at the Death Eater, and the figure fell, Stunned, to the forest floor. 'Thanks,' he said to Luna.

'Sure,' she said, out of breath. '_Expelliarmus!_' A Death Eater's wand flew into her hand and she pocketed it. She put up a good fight, taking every higher thought, every rapid-fire impulse she had ever possessed and channeling her power into the battle before her. Next to her, Neville shot spells left and right. But the odds were against them. There were too many Death Eaters, and Luna felt herself tiring.

As a miracle of dark salvation, Luna heard Abacus's wings above her, just in the nick of time. 'Come on!' she shouted to Neville.

'No, let's Apparate away!' Neville said. 'We're past the wards, I can feel it!'

Luna hesitated. If they Apparated, they could regroup with the others and rejoin the battle. She heard Neville stop casting next to her as he prepared to disappear. But what about Abacus?

She glanced up, and her loyal Thestral hovered mere feet above her head, waiting. 'You go!' she said to Neville.

'Luna!' he yelled.

But she was already up on Abacus's back, and below her she saw Neville Longbottom disappear into safety with a pop. 'Go, Abacus, fly!' she commanded. They were up and over the trees, soaring along the top of the forest, and Luna thought she was in the clear. She breathed a sigh of relief. She still had that unknown Death Eater's wand in her pocket.

It was Abacus who warned her, as he neighed and tossed his scraggly black mane back and forth. Luna glanced behind them, and her eyes widened. Flying in a wide 'V' formation was a pack of Welsh Green dragons, their long necks stretched out in attack position. Their eyes and teeth were golden-white, and smoke issued forth out of their flared nostrils as they flew in pursuit. This was bad news; it meant that Voldemort had won the loyalty of the dragons. Luna whispered to Abacus, 'Into the forest!'

They dipped suddenly, and the flying pair raced through the forest, dodging through tree trunks at breakneck speed. Luna kept her body down close to Abacus so as not to be knocked off his back by the tree limbs. She heard the dragons huffing and roaring above the trees, but they were too large to pursue the Thestral and his girl rider into the forest.

Luna lost track of where they went, how many dips and turns and circles through the silver-dappled trees. She considered Apparating mid-air, but she was not sure that Thestrals (or any large magical creature) could side-along Apparate.

It became a moot point then, because right in front of Luna, a network of tiny ropes appeared in the air to entangle Abacus and bring him tumbling down to the ground, throwing Luna forward about fifteen feet into the air. She landed with a rolling thud on the ground and lay back, the wind knocked out of her. She heard Abacus's high-pitched screams of protest, and her heart again thumped in her ears, but Luna was momentarily paralysed. With care she wriggled her fingers, then her toes, and turned her head to glance toward her Thestral.

At least a dozen Death Eaters surrounded the creature, binding it with ropes, and two more turned in her direction and started walking. The sight galvanised Luna into action, and she took one more deep breath and willed herself to rise up. Her muscles objected, but Luna did not listen. She stumbled a few times, then started to run. She brought out her wand. '_Apparate!_' she commanded. She felt an uncomfortable pinch around her midriff, but nothing happened. She must have re-entered the Beauxbatons wards.

Instead, she ran. Tiny tree branches reached out like fingers to grab at her, and Luna was reminded of that dream she'd had a few nights ago, of a forest much like this one. At least she was not bleeding yet. And she wore black, not white. Luna's light feet took her fast through the trees, but the occasional glance behind her revealed a dark shape moving through the trees in hot pursuit. She ran faster, willing her long legs to move, move, move!

'_Incarcerous!_' The voice was closer behind her than Luna realised. She felt the strict bindings wrap around her torso, pinning her arms, and she fell onto the soft ground. She was trapped, and she struggled against the ropes like a madwoman, but it was in vain.

The last thing Luna heard was a harsh laugh coming from the dark figure. The figure said something. Then a fuzzy darkness intruded on her vision, and the world went black.


	3. Shield of Wings

**Author's Notes:** Special thanks, as always, to my reviewers: _forceuser1456/Starlit Goddess, MandaPandaAR, Lilith Kayden, GoodQueenA, Voldie's pink teddie, _and _The Enchanted Teakettle_. And sorry for the cliffhanger, yet again; don't worry, it will be resolved in a few weeks :-)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**Shield of Wings**

The first thing Luna was conscious of was pain. It was all over her body, sore and cramping and tense. At first she thought the rope bindings still held her tight against herself, but after a second Luna realised she was free to move. This she did with hesitation, and took a quick inventory of her fingers, toes, and limbs. All seemed intact.

Her eyes opened. Darkness swam in front of her, but this too resolved into vague shadows: a wall, a ceiling, both made of stone. A wooden chair in the corner. The floor upon which she lay was hard-packed dirt. Luna sat up gingerly, feeling the rips and tatters of her clothes from the pursuit through the forest. She was not in France anymore, her intuition told her. There were no windows in the room, but a thin sliver of light came through beneath a wooden door. Luna focused on this light. It was golden as from candles or witch-lights. Something about it was reassuring, yet Luna did not want to be illuminated quite yet. To be illuminated was to be given attention, and Death Eater attention was usually fatal.

Something scuttled in the corner, and Luna whirled her head toward the sound, a little too fast. Nausea overtook her, and she rubbed her hands on her temples, focusing on the crack of light beneath the door. It steadied her, and Luna listened for the noise again. It was probably a rat, or perhaps a large spider. Not nice, but not frightening either. The thought of creatures reminded Luna of Abacus: was he all right? She hoped he had not been hurt. Thestrals had their own way, and could be quite vicious in self-defence, so maybe he'd gotten away.

When she felt strong enough, Luna stood up and felt her way around the cell, taking note of four solid walls and the one wall with a door. There was not much else to it. The chair in the corner, and a small hole in the ground as a privy, unused from the smell of it. It was a small measure of comfort that the Death Eaters did not have overcrowded dungeons.

Luna sat on the cold dirt floor and regarded her situation with a cool mind. She had been captured; that much was obvious. She remembered being trapped by the ropes, and someone laughing. They must have cast a spell on her, for she had blacked out. But was she whisked away by Apparation immediately? Or did her capture mean that the Order of the Phoenix had lost their battle? Luna suspected she'd been taken right away, since she was subdued and it would only take one Death Eater. She hoped the Order had captured twenty Death Eaters in the meantime.

An inventory of her person revealed that her wand had been taken from her, of course, along with the miniaturised satchel in her pocket, the other Death Eater's wand from the battle, and her little bag of mouth-mints. The silver skull medallion remained around her neck, however, and for that she was grateful.

She did not know for how long she sat there with her back up against the wall. Luna did some strengthening stretches to enhance her magical power, as her mother had experimented with at one time. That was one experiment that worked, in Luna's opinion. She rearranged her clothing, tying it in strategic knots and re-working her cloak into a sort of wrap dress. It gave her something to do, waiting there in the semi-darkness.

Her stomach growled, and Luna looked down at it, shocked. She could not remember ever feeling truly hungry, aside from that time when she was fifteen and was so caught up with a gingerbread castle project that she'd forgotten to eat for three days. Then her father had placed a large plate of shepherd's pie in front of her and she'd realised she was famished. This time, Luna recalled eating a scone, an apple, and some sweets right before heading out with Neville into the Beauxbatons forest. It made her wonder how long she'd blacked out; a couple of days, if her stomach was growling.

Someone was neglecting her, here in the Death Eater dungeons.

Just as she had the thought, Luna saw a shadow in the crack of light. A pair of feet stopped in front of the door. She watched and waited. The door swung open and Luna instinctively put her hand up to shield her dilated eyes from the sudden glare of light.

'Get up,' said the figure that stood in the doorway.

Luna saw no reason to disobey. She did not judge situations until she had full knowledge of them. Until there was reason or opportunity to fight back, Luna would relax. So, she stood with the aid of leaning against the wall, and stepped forward.

The dark figure reached out and grabbed her by the elbow, shoving her out the door into a well-lit corridor. It was here that Luna got a good look at the person, and she gasped out loud. It was Vincent Crabbe, that Slytherin boy a year above her at Hogwarts. He was as large as ever, hulking in dark rough-spun robes.

'Hi,' said Luna.

Crabbe glowered at her out of his fleshy face. 'Come on,' he said. 'Your magic is shackled down here, so don't try anything.'

'Is it?' Luna asked. She had not noticed. But then, she had not tried any spells, not even wandless magic. She walked along behind Crabbe's form, peering at the other doors in the corridor. They were all like hers: wooden and closed. It was impossible to tell if they contained prisoners or just empty cells. 'Where are we?' she asked Crabbe.

'We ask the questions around here, not you,' Crabbe grumbled. 'You'll be screaming for mercy soon.'

To Luna, it sounded like Crabbe tried to make routine an inhumanity: the torture of other people, former classmates. She felt sorry for Crabbe. He was probably in over his head, and would not know how to get out of being a Death Eater if he tried. But did this mean they would torture her for information? Most likely.

They reached a stone staircase and climbed up. Luna kept her ears open for other sounds, but the air felt thick and heavy, as though filled with Silencing charms. She let her hands trail along the narrow walls, feeling out the terror and pain that resided in the stones. This was not a good place.

At the top of the stairs was another heavy wooden door, and it creaked open for them, manned by a hunched-over wizard whose hooded cloak concealed the face. Luna did not look too closely. They were in a place with windows now, a long paneled wood hallway. The windows were drawn shut with dark velvet curtains, but it was nice to know there was some glass nearby. It meant things did not get too violent up here.

Crabbe led Luna along until they reached the appropriate doorway, and Crabbe knocked three times.

'Enter,' said a voice from within.

Then Luna was pushed into the room, and she stumbled a little. The room held a single chair in the middle of it, and to the side stood a man cloaked in the standard-issue Death Eater black. It was Severus Snape.

'Professor Snape!' Luna said.

He did not acknowledge her except by a twist of his thin mouth. 'Leave us,' he said to Crabbe. Luna heard the door snap shut behind her, leaving her alone with the professor she had not seen in over two years.

'Miss Lovegood,' said Snape. 'Sit down.'

'Do I have to?' she asked.

'Yes,' he snapped.

'All right,' Luna said, meek. She took a seat in the hard wooden chair. 'Where am I?'

Snape looked at her for a moment. 'It doesn't matter,' he said. 'I ask the questions.'

Luna nodded. Ever since Harry reported that Snape had murdered Headmaster Dumbledore, no one in the Order had seen nor heard from the malcontent professor. It was acknowledged that his true colours belonged with Voldemort, and now Luna could see that Snape worked as the chief interrogator. She thought it was a good job for him; even as a professor, Snape had a way of worming the truth out of errant students. She almost told him so, but some dark thing in his eyes stilled her tongue.

'Now, will you tell me the truth? Or will I need to resort to other techniques?' He brought out a small vial of some potion. Luna deciphered it to be Veritaserum.

'I'll answer as best I can,' she said. And she would, as long as her answers never betrayed the Order.

Snape smiled, but he did not have the kind of features suited for smiling. On him it looked like a grimace. 'Very well. How many of the Order were at Beauxbatons?'

'I don't know,' said Luna. 'We were split up into separate teams. I was with Neville Longbottom, and we took our orders from Mad-Eye Moody.' It was a partial truth, but Luna did not want to reveal how many Order members were there, lest the Death Eaters extrapolate the true number of their ranks.

'I think you're lying,' said Snape. 'You know how many there were. Miss Lovegood, I'll only say this once: _tell the truth_.' He brought out his wand, and Luna stared at it.

'Eighteen,' she said.

'That's better. What was your task?'

'Walk through the woods, and try not to get caught,' Luna said. She shrugged. 'I guess that didn't work out. But I saw some nice trees. And did you know about the dragons? You would know, I suppose. But still, I didn't know dragons could be trained to fly in formation like that!'

Snape sighed, sounding exasperated. 'Try to focus, Miss Lovegood. Was there any other purpose to your mission at Beauxbatons?'

'No,' she said, honestly.

'Was Potter there?'

Luna shook her head. 'I don't know where he was.'

'Really,' said Snape, sounding as though he did not believe her. He brought his wand to bear against the skin of her throat, and Luna gulped. 'Where was Potter?'

'I don't know!' she said. Desperation crept into her voice. Her former potions teacher wouldn't harm her, would he? In this upside-down world, Luna could no longer be sure of anything.

Then, with sudden violence, Snape grabbed her by the jaw and forced her mouth open. He poured a cool liquid down her throat and Luna felt an instant calm, white, fuzziness come over her. She felt like talking.

'Where was Potter?'

'Probably snogging Ginny Weasley,' said Luna. 'They're going together, you know. That's why they sent me to get the unicorn hairs.'

'Unicorn hairs?' Snape asked.

'Yep,' said Luna. 'I was the only one still a virgin. Hermione sure isn't. And Ginny isn't. Although, they could have sent Neville, unless you count making love to plants.'

Snape made a strangled noise, and his face turned a funny colour. Luna stared at him. 'What's the matter?' she asked.

'Nothing,' he said. 'Were Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger on the team at Beauxbatons?'

'No,' said Luna, feeling warmth deep in her chest. It was like having a lot of butterbeer, she mused. She tilted her head back and forth, enjoying the slight spinning of Snape's figure in front of her. Were there three of him?

'Where were Granger and Weasley?'

'Probably with Harry. They had an important mission, Hermione said.'

'What kind of mission?'

'I don't know,' Luna said. 'They never tell us anything, in case we're captured.' Then she giggled. 'Like me!'

'Where is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?'

Luna wanted to say Twelve Grimmauld Place, but it stuck on her tongue. The Veritaserum warred with the Fidelius Charm, and only incoherent syllables came out of her mouth.

'Never mind,' said Snape, waving his hand. 'Have you received any strange orders as part of your duties?'

Luna began to babble. 'Oh, yes. Once I had to baby-sit some crazy old Muggle woman named Amy. I thought she was interesting, though. And then there was the time that Draco Malfoy was there, and my job was to talk to him, because he wouldn't speak to Harry and vice versa. Draco Malfoy wasn't a nice person, and he said I looked loony, like my name. And then there was the thing about artefacts.'

'Artefacts?' Snape asked, a sharp edge in his voice.

'Anything to do with the founders of Hogwarts, we're supposed to keep an eye out for. Not sure why, though. I think maybe it was Ron Weasley's idea; maybe it's to sell them in his brothers' shop!'

Snape leaned back on his heels and whistled through his teeth. The sound penetrated Luna's consciousness, and some of the warm fuzzy feeling began to fade. 'Professor Snape?' she asked.

'Listen to me, Miss Lovegood,' he knelt in front of her. 'You are the only Order member we captured three nights ago.'

Luna blinked. Had she been out of it for three days? She hoped that, somewhere, her friends were worried about her.

'As such,' Snape continued, 'you are perceived to be close to Potter and the others. I am not the only one who will ask you questions.'

By now, the Veritaserum had worn off, and Luna realised what she had told the former professor. Had she given away much? She hoped not. 'Why are you telling me this?' she asked Snape.

'It is no good to try to conceal anything from him,' Snape sighed. 'How many artefacts have they found? Do you know?'

'I know a few,' Luna admitted.

'That's what I was afraid of,' said Snape. 'But there is no helping it now. You will tell the Dark Lord what you have told me. He might be merciful with you, he might not. It is out of my hands now.'

Luna stared at Snape, at his cold expression. 'I'll bet you wash your hands every night and they never feel clean,' she said.

Snape's eyes widened for a split second. 'What?' he whispered.

'I don't think you're bad,' said Luna, and it was true. For all Professor Snape's acerbic manner, she had enjoyed his classes and learned a lot. She had observed that Snape had many sides to him and none were what they seemed. Somewhere inside was the real man, and Luna felt sorry for him, too.

'You're a naïve little girl,' Snape said. 'But you're about to learn true evil, as we all must.' He sneered at her. 'May the Dark Arts preserve you.' He said it as a prayer, an all-hail to a vengeful universe. Snape left the room then, slamming the door behind him.

On the off-chance that the door was open, Luna tried it, but it was locked. She doubted that a simple 'Alohamora' charm would work, even if she had her wand. Instead, she contented herself with counting the number of floorboards, and then braiding one side of her hair. She was halfway through the second braid when the door flung open and an unfamiliar Death Eater stepped inside.

It was an older man with a cruel face. He chuckled at her. 'Now you meet the Dark Lord,' he said. 'Let's go.'

Luna did not think she scared easily, but right now her feet were leaden and would not move forward. She shook her head back and forth.

'Come on!' the Death Eater said. He brought out his wand and said '_Imperio_.'

A dread calm settled over Luna, worse than the compulsion of Veritaserum, soft and dark. She walked forward, following the Death Eater, but then her mind started to wander. Even under the Imperius Curse, Luna found it hard to focus on one thing, such as following orders. As though under its own strange direction, her mind slipped out from under the curse, and she smiled to herself. During their Defence lessons in post-Hogwarts training, Mad-Eye Moody had declared that Luna was too crazy to be put under the Imperius for long, and this exercise proved it.

However, it did not do Luna very much good, for another Death Eater joined them from behind, and the trio of prisoner and guards climbed a grand staircase up to another story. Looking around, Luna decided they were in a great manor house, somewhat dilapidated as though undergoing magical renovation. She wondered if it was the Riddle House, which Harry had described to the Order. It made sense for Lord Voldemort to use it as his headquarters, just as Harry used the inherited house from Stubby Boardman.

The upstairs of the house was nicer, and Luna looked around at the wall-mounted candles with their dripping white wax, and the new quartz crystal doorknobs on the fine carved doors. Quartz crystal could be used as part of strong magical wards, so Luna was unsurprised to find it here.

They reached a pair of double doors, and the elder Death Eater tapped his wand with three soft knocks.

'Come in,' issued a high, cold voice. Luna shivered.

All she saw at first was the back of a tall armchair. Then her eyes found the great snake coiled by a fireplace, hissing a black forked tongue at her. The armchair lifted up into the air and in a slow, sinister motion it turned, inch-by-inch, until the occupant faced the door.

Luna stared, terrified. She felt a lump in her throat, threatening to burst into tears, but she could not move. Every inch of her felt cold, cast into ice by the glittering red eyes that now regarded her. Luna felt even her eyelashes quake in fear, and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head.

Lord Voldemort in the flesh was far worse than Luna might have imagined. His thin frame was folded into the chair, and his hands dangled off the armrests, deceptive in their relaxation. His face was captivating and horrible: an ascetic carving in white, a deformed remembrance of the man he might have been. But it was Voldemort's eyes which drew Luna's attention. They glinted like crimson gems, penetrating her consciousness, and she could not escape them.

'Kneel,' whispered Voldemort.

Luna did not move, and he lifted a finger, and she felt herself tugged inexorably down until she was on her knees before the Dark Lord. By the fireplace, she heard that big snake hissing away.

It happened in slow motion, and Luna believed for a moment that she was in a nightmare. It couldn't be real, none of it. This was her imagination at work. And Voldemort brought out his wand, and said the incantation. '_Crucio._'

The pain slammed all awareness from her mind, icy hot waves of torment that wracked her into spasms. It was a wild scream, a lament against her body, and it lasted for eternity. There was nothing outside this torture, no life before or after. She forgot her own name. Little devils with sharp pokers raced along her skin, and every muscle clamped down in agony from the inside out. Her nerves quivered and danced like marionettes to the order of pain. Was someone laughing?

It ended abruptly, although it took several seconds for Luna to realise it. She gasped like a landed fish, sucking in air that seared her lungs in its pleasure. She was on hands and knees, staring down at a wood floor, her hair hanging in her face. Luna felt betrayed by life. This was not supposed to happen to her; did not her innocence protect her?

'That was a mere taste,' said a voice, smooth and steady against the chaotic whirl of Luna's brain.

She looked up through the strands of fair hair. It came back to her; she was a captive, taken by the Death Eaters, and now she was before Lord Voldemort himself. She shut her mouth and fell back into a sitting position. As a reflex, Luna reached up to twist her fingers into the partial braid of hair she'd begun earlier.

'You will talk now,' said Voldemort. He raised a hand and Luna felt herself slide forward on the floor until she was mere inches from the white creature. Voldemort grasped her jaw, and his fingers were cold as he raised her head to look at him.

The next invasion was the worst of all, for it was Luna's mind that was ripped apart. Voldemort rampaged through her head, skimming through every thought and memory. Luna let out a moan of dread as he discovered her theory that there was a spy in his camp, an insect Animagus that buzzed around his head and took down his orders. Now, thought Luna, all the bugs the Death Eaters found would be killed. It would be an insect massacre and it was Luna's fault.

All else was open to Voldemort, too; her father's home, the memories of her mother's death, the years of teasing at school, and the workings of the Order, the instructions to be on the lookout for magical artefacts. At this last, Luna felt Voldemort release her, and he leaned back with an expression of shrewd not-quite-surprise.

'What is your name?' he asked.

Luna's tongue felt wooden, but she was compelled to respond. 'L-Luna Lovegood.'

'You may address me as 'my Lord,'' Voldemort said.

Luna said it, loathing the sound. 'My Lord.'

'You have a unique mind,' Voldemort said.

She stared at him. That was exactly what the Hogwarts Sorting Hat had said, when she was eleven years old and sitting on the three-legged stool in front of the Great Hall.

'Alas,' Voldemort said, 'you are not for this world any longer.' From the front of his robes he procured something Luna recognised: her own wand. 'Leave us,' he said to the two Death Eaters still standing in the doorway.

Luna glanced back at them, almost sorry to see them go. It occurred to her that she was about to die. It had come to this, her life: she would be murdered by an evil Dark Lord at the age of twenty. Would her life flash before her eyes? Would she see her mother on the other side? The inevitability left Luna strangely blank, unafraid of what was to come.

'I need a bit of sport,' said Voldemort. He sighed and it sounded like boredom bred by unexpressed whimsy. 'So, I'm going to give you a rare chance. We shall duel.' He laughed; it was more of a hysterical giggle, without humour. He handed Luna her wand and then stood, swift and efficient in his movements, and walked over to the other side of the room. 'Stand up,' he ordered Luna.

She stood and took a few steps back. It would have been better for Voldemort to kill her defenceless. That way Luna might not feel responsible for her own demise. This duel would just make her feel inadequate, and Luna did not want to die feeling down on herself.

At the last second, Luna decided what to do. She would not rise to Voldemort's bait. She would die on her terms, in her way.

'On three,' said Voldemort, the hysteria still in his voice. He bowed to her, she to him.'Three, two, one. Duel!'

_'Pario!_' Luna said with firm intent. Out of her wand erupted butterflies, hundreds of them, thousands of them, in all shapes and sizes and colours: white, yellow, blue, pink, black, red and orange with patterns on their fluttering wings. The cloud of butterflies surrounded Luna, and swept around her in a tornado of soft silk.

'_Avada Kedavra!_' she heard Voldemort shout from beyond the cloud, but Luna was no longer disturbed. She smiled, looking around her at the beautiful flying things, heedless of the jet of green light that sped towards her.


	4. An Allowance of Life

**Author's Notes:**My gratitude to the reviewers: _MandaPandaAR, komoto, jka1, Voldiesgirl999, Mint101, BellonaBellatrix, The Enchanted Teakettle, ffff, purple eyes, _and _wildandclear_. Cheers for the support. On that, time for the next chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**An Allowance of Life**

The Killing Curse shot across the room toward Luna and she spread out her arms to twirl in the cloud of butterflies. She would not see death. She would see life in her last moments, and she focused on a particular butterfly in the crowd, a large luminous white one with gently flapping wings.

But, something happened that neither Voldemort nor Luna Lovegood expected. The fatal green bolt found a mark, but it was not Luna. It was a butterfly, one of the living swirl that eddied around Luna's body. The single butterfly took the curse and dropped, but it was unnoticeable amongst the thousands of insects. Luna, who had been expecting to leave her body at any time, blinked and turned back toward Voldemort.

Through the butterfly swarm that caressed her face, Luna saw the Dark Lord, standing motionless at the other end of the room. He looked at a loss. In his countenance she saw anger, yes, but respect too.

He flicked his wand and with some nonverbal spell, the butterflies disappeared in a mist of white light. They were alone once again.

'Clever,' said Voldemort. 'But not good enough.' He raised his wand again.

'Wait,' said Luna.

He paused, to her surprise.

'Will you grant me a last request?' Luna asked.

Voldemort's lips quirked into an arrogant smile. The admission of his power over Luna must have pleased him. 'Very well,' he said.

'I have a question,' Luna said.

Voldemort's amusement became more pronounced, and he rocked back on his heels and waved his other hand, as if to say 'go on.'

'You seek immortality,' said Luna, 'and seem to have attained it… But I want to know something. My Lord, what is it about life that you love so much?'

The smile vanished from Voldemort's face. His red eyes narrowed at her. 'Excuse me?'

'There must be a reason why you want to live forever,' said Luna. 'You must love life more than anyone, right?'

Voldemort looked nonplussed. Luna wondered if anyone had ever asked him such a question; from his reaction, she doubted it. He raised his wand yet again, and his eyes flared up, angry and bright.

'My Lord, you granted me this request,' Luna said. 'We should follow the niceties, don't you think?'

Again, Voldemort showed his shock and he hissed, dropping his jaw a little. 'Are you always this way?' he asked. 'Impertinent little girl.'

'I'm just curious,' said Luna, tilting her head at him. 'It's a fair question. What is it about life that you love so much?' she repeated herself.

'Power,' Voldemort snapped.

'Power?' Luna said. What a funny thing to say. Luna did not know anything about power, but she did know that other people wanted it. 'Why power?'

'For the love of –' Voldemort broke off. 'I've had enough of you, Luna Lovegood. I've answered your question, and now you die.' For the fourth time he prepared to send his final curse to strike Luna dead.

'What will you do when you get all the power in the world?' Luna blurted quick as she could pronounce the question. She decided that she needed to keep Voldemort talking. Maybe she could learn something before she died.

Voldemort clenched his left fist, and unclenched it again, but did not say the terrible green words. 'What do you mean?' he asked, enunciating his syllables as though making himself be patient.

'When you rule the world. What then?' Luna asked.

'Well, I –' Voldemort began. 'It's none of your business,' he said churlishly.

For a moment Luna thought she was dealing with a petulant five-year-old. Really. The Dark Lord must have contemplated what he would do with his success… or Voldemort was not the introspective type. 'I wonder if you'll get bored,' said Luna. 'Once you have all the power. Maybe you'll have to take up chess, or something, just to stay busy.'

'Chess?' Voldemort said. 'I already play chess. I'm very good at it.'

'Me too!' said Luna. 'Well, I don't know if I'm good. But I do know how to play.'

Voldemort narrowed his eyes again. Then, fast as lightning, he flicked his wand and murmured '_Expelliarmus!_'

Luna's wand flew out of her grip and into Voldemort's outstretched hand. She gasped at the suddenness of it; she'd expected the Killing Curse again.

'You are, without doubt, the most irritating person I've ever met,' Voldemort said. 'And that's saying something. I had to live with Wormtail for a year.'

Luna was confused. Was he going to murder her? She felt out of breath, and every minute was weighted down with the potential for death. She wished for the butterflies again. A sigh came out of her mouth, unbidden.

'I think,' Voldemort continued, 'I'll let you live for one more day. How would you like that?' He made an expansive gesture with his hands, the benevolent Dark Lord.

Luna shrugged. 'If it's my time, it's my time,' she said. 'You might think you decide.'

Voldemort whirled away from her in a tornado of black robes. 'Shut up,' he said. 'If you really want to live, you'll show respect.'

'You already have my respect,' said Luna, and meant it. 'I think you have a lot to show the world, even if you are an example of what not to do.'

Voldemort laughed then, a high-pitched sound of mirth that lasted a few seconds before dying away. 'An example of what not to do,' he said. 'You must not have any friends.'

'Sorry?' said Luna, surprised that the Dark Lord knew this about her.

'No one who is so blunt could have friends,' said Voldemort. 'It's written on your face now.'

Luna felt shattered. He was right, of course. She had doubts about the depth of her friendships. Yes, the other members of the Order tolerated her, but she had no one to truly confide in, other than her father. And Mr. Lovegood could not be with his daughter forever; it was natural that Luna might seek a life outside of home. Although Voldemort picked out Luna's one source of hurt, her lack of friends, a part of her mind knew that the Dark Lord shared this characteristic. By choice such a man did not have friends. Luna wondered if he regretted it.

Then, Luna recalled other things about herself: her conversations with Neville about Herbology, the companionable meals with Ginny, the kindness shown by Harry. She _did _have friends, and they were worried about her. She had one up on the Dark Lord Voldemort, and it made her raise her chin and narrow her eyes. 'I do have friends, actually,' she said.

Voldemort laughed. 'Not for long.'

'What do you mean?'

He just shook his head, amused by something Luna could not know. 'I feel obligated to tell you the terms of your survival,' he said. His voice shook with what might have been glee. 'You must keep me entertained. You're right, you know: I am bored. The moment you fail to interest me, you die.'

Luna bit her fingernail and looked at him. This was unexpected. Just as when he'd given her wand back, this made things worse: it made Luna more and more responsible for her death. Right now she would prefer the noble and helpless sacrifice of the lamb brought to slaughter, the lack of choice in the matter. But Voldemort did the cruelest thing of all and made Luna live a bit longer in the house of evil.

She wished she might leave this world as an innocent.

'Entertain you?' she asked. 'What do you want me to do?'

Voldemort pointed at the snake coiled on the hearth. 'You can start by making friends with Nagini.' He tittered with cold laughter again. 'She loves people.'

Luna glanced over at the snake. She had a feeling that by loving people, Voldemort meant that Nagini loved to eat people. 'Does that mean that Wormtail has become food?' she asked.

This sent Voldemort into gales of laughter, and Luna stared in horror. She hated the thought that the Dark Lord found her funny. She would have to re-evaluate her sense of humour. 'Go,' he raised a finger and once again Luna slid across the floor, this time toward Nagini.

At a loss for anything else to do, Luna knelt before the snake. Nagini reared up and her cobra's head formed into a triangle of threat. Luna took a deep breath and met the snake's reptilian eyes. They were not red, but they still reminded of Lord Voldemort.

'Hello, Nagini,' Luna breathed. 'Did Wormtail taste nice?'

The snake did not respond, and Luna looked up at Voldemort. 'Does she understand English?'

'No,' said Voldemort. Then he hissed something in a language that Luna recognised as Parseltongue; she'd heard Harry use it before. It was sort of Harry's party trick. Nagini swayed back and forth upon hearing Voldemort's snake-language words, and let out a long hiss in return.

'She's laughing,' said Voldemort.

Kneeling on the floor inches from the Dark Lord's vicious familiar, Luna took the opportunity to study Nagini more closely. The snake was large, with dry scales that looked soft to the touch. Luna was afraid to put out a hand and see for herself. The cobra's hood stuck out like a headdress and there were fine lines along the throat that put Luna in mind of a necklace. Nagini's eyes were cold and glittering, like round obsidian gems placed underwater, and an intelligence gleamed there that went beyond that of a normal snake.

'She is a Naga,' said Voldemort. 'The most loyal guardian creature in the world.'

After knowing Fawkes, the late Headmaster Dumbledore's phoenix, Luna held the opinion that phoenixes were the most loyal. And then there was Abacus, whose fate she still did not know. However, for the sake of staying alive, Luna was prepared to agree with Voldemort. 'Where did you find a Naga?' she asked him.

'I have been many places, Luna Lovegood,' said Voldemort. 'I've travelled the world over. And Nagini here is one of my most prized finds.'

'Oh,' said Luna. She wondered about prizes. They had to be won, and then they were treasured, held close to the chest, admired and grasped with feverish little hands. She thought that Voldemort liked prizes; she remembered the trophy in old, closed Hogwarts that read 'Tom Riddle, Award for Special Services to the School.' Something nagged at her brain about a link between trophies and Nagini; prizes and Nagini; it was important. Luna shoved it away quick as she could. It was best to keep her mind blank of anything important for as long as Voldemort could read her.

'It's nice to meet you, Nagini,' said Luna. She was struck by an inspiration and put her hands together, Eastern-style, and bowed to the snake. 'Namaste. Mera nam Luna hai.'

Nagini seemed to perk up, and tilted her snake-head in a way that was almost human. She hissed something to Voldemort.

'She thanks you for the greeting in her native Hindi,' said Voldemort, 'and takes note of your first name.' He sounded amused still. Luna was unsurprised that Voldemort understood Hindi, for any Dark Lord worth his salt must speak the many languages of magic. She figured he knew Egyptian, Tibetan, and Chinese as well. Luna herself knew only pleasantries in different languages, because her father said it was important to show respect to other cultures, particularly if you were interviewing a foreigner. Father's mindset was always toward getting a good interview.

She turned to face Voldemort, and had to keep her eyes disciplined enough not to shy away from his face. He loomed like a terrible angel over her, black billowing robes and crossed arms, and his face so white that Luna was reminded of the moon, her own namesake. The eyes, as always, looked like those things the Muggle-born students described as 'laser-beams.' Piercing and unforgiving.

'Sir,' she bowed to him, unsure what to do next.

However, Voldemort turned away and commanded something that Luna could not hear, and two Death Eaters came into the room, the same two that brought Luna to begin her torture. They stood at attention, awaiting their next spate of orders.

'Take her,' said Voldemort, pointing behind him at Luna. 'See that she remains _relatively_ unharmed. Put her in the round room.'

Luna was on her feet before she could register it, and the two Death Eaters had her by the elbows. She chanced a look back at Voldemort on her way out the door. He knelt down by Nagini, petting her head with a gentle hand, and did not look at Luna.

The corridors of what Luna assumed was the Riddle House went by in a blur as her feet stumbled and dragged past door after carved door. She stayed on the same floor of the mansion and then she heard the murmured deactivation of wards on a door shaped like a gothic arch. It swung open, and the Death Eaters threw Luna forward and slammed the door after her. She turned right away and tried to open it again, but the door was so solid that it might have been carved of stone. Luna slumped down against it and looked around with a despondent gaze.

She saw why it was called the round room. It was not round, but instead had a round window, in the old cathedral rose style. An odd architectural detail, to be sure, and the stained-glass inset dimmed the light coming in and made it like glowing jewels dancing on the fine carpet. The window and the Oriental rug were the only luxurious things about the room. The walls were aged plaster, crumbling in places, revealing the rough-hewn stone beneath. A double-wide gothic plank bed with simple white blankets occupied one corner, with a single nightstand next to it, empty of all but a half-burned candle.

There was a dusty dark green velvet armchair, and Luna half-smiled at it. It looked like her favourite seat in 12 Grimmauld Place. She heaved herself up off the floor and scooted the armchair to a nice place next to the window, a gesture which made her feel better. At least she had control over where the chair sat, if over nothing else.

The room was designed for boredom. There were no books of any kind, nor paper, quills, games, or artwork. Luna was alone with her thoughts and the big rose window. She whacked the armchair with her hand a few times, fluffing up clouds of dust, and she waved her arm to disperse the filth. She sank down into the chair, cross-legged in bare feet, and put her hands on her knees. The drawback of having a pretty stained-glass window with an Unbreakable charm on it was the lack of a view. The colours gave no clue as to what was outside, and so Luna stared at a spot of dark purple, a little diamond of it within the larger pattern. It was a colour she liked for its calming effects, and she let purple wash over her consciousness until she felt centred again.

* * *

For three days Luna was without company. She began to think she'd been forgotten, a notion that was quite welcome. Then she remembered that she'd thought the same thing down in the dungeons, and see how _that_ turned out. Interrogated, inflicted with the Cruciatus Curse, and then told she needed to keep the Dark Lord from suffering boredom as the price of her life. 

This set Luna in a new direction: what, exactly, did Voldemort mean by 'entertain' him? From what Harry had said before, Luna got the feeling that Wormtail might have previously borne the brunt of Death Eater jokes and derision, but Wormtail was long-gone and digested by now. There was no one Luna could ask about how to entertain Death Eaters, and several scenarios came to mind. She could juggle quite well, even with large Quidditch-standard Quaffle balls. She could dance, too, funny dances like the Wimple-Walk and the Rosebug, along with standard things like tango and waltz. The summer when Luna was sixteen her father had given her the dance lessons she'd requested, from a tutor named Madame Dunblatt. It was a lot of fun and gave Luna something to feel good about. She was lost in memory of it and then like a bird her mind fluttered back to the present moment.

Entertaining Lord Voldemort. Well. Luna knew that a person's sense of humour told a great deal about their character, so Voldemort's humour must be sick, twisted, and abnormal. That would be the assumption, and yet he found her funny enough to keep her alive. Disturbing, that. The man was clever, brilliant even, and Luna got a sense of dry, crackling wit about him. He was the type of person to wreak great havoc simply because it amused him to do so.

What would Luna Lovegood do to create entertainment for such a wicked person? She might tell jokes, but she'd never been any good at that. Luna did not find things funny the way other people did. People laughed at her for being herself, so perhaps that was the best approach: just be herself. Her weird, absent-minded, unconventional, flighty self, with bottlecap necklaces and red high heels –

Luna's thoughts ground to a halt as a new, sickening possibility presented itself. 'Entertain' the Dark Lord. There was another meaning there, a potential that was worse than anything Luna might have conceived. It would make the Cruciatus look like a cake-walk. Even the brief mental image made Luna feel violated and awful. What if she was meant to entertain Voldemort with her body?

She knew nothing about the Dark Lord's sexual preferences, or if he even had any. It was a topic never mentioned during Order briefings. Harry, Ron, and Hermione never spoke or even speculated on it, and the few Order members who were alive during Voldemort's early years, McGonagall and Hagrid, had not told of any prior relationships that the young Tom Riddle had indulged in. It was a mystery, one that Luna hoped not to solve, but now she wondered. Why else would Voldemort spare a young, lithe blonde girl with an unusual mind?

The tangy taste of fear worked in Luna's mouth. She would rather die than submit to Voldemort like that. She'd never thought of herself as a martyr who could stare down death and plunge into it; Luna was not brave like Ron and Harry, but there were some things that were not to be borne. She thought of her poor parents, one dead and the other living, and how she wanted to stay their precious little girl forever. She would not allow her innocence to be taken.

But then the bane of Ravenclaw House, logic, interfered with the vow. How would Luna stop it? Voldemort now had the power of life and death over her. She had no means of killing herself, sans wand and weaponry. Her eyes flickered across the crisp white bedsheets in contemplation of making a hangman's noose, but she dismissed the idea almost immediately; there was too much that might go wrong. There were no rafters or beams to hang from in the room, Luna saw with a glance up at the ceiling, and no chandelier either. She would succeed in hurting herself with a noose made of sheets, but it would not kill her. No, the only way to leave this world was for Lord Voldemort or one of the Death Eaters to force her from her body by violence.

She pinched her skin to make sure this was not some kind of nightmare, but the sharp little pain told her it was real, the same pain from a thousand other pinches over the past three days. Luna could starve herself to death, she supposed, but that would take the kind of resolve that she couldn't muster for much of anything. As it was, she got one meal per day, and it appeared in the same corner of the room, sent up by probable house-elf magic. It would not have been enough food for a normal person, but Luna's appetite had never been normal, and in captivity she was like a caged animal: she found it difficult to eat much at all. For that, the death-by-starvation option seemed unlikely since Luna barely ate in the first place and she was still alive.

Today the noon meal had been a thick slice of bread, a tomato, a glass of pumpkin juice, and a bowl of some meaty stew that Luna _hoped_ was not made of people. She'd eaten the stew and saved the rest for later.

To keep herself occupied when not contemplating death or torture, Luna re-made her dress stitch-by-stitch until it now wrapped around the front and had a neat little fringe along the bottom hem. It gave it a gypsy effect. She wished for her jewelry back, for it was a nervous habit of hers to play with her earrings or twirl her necklaces around. As it was, Luna was forced to play with her long sand-coloured hair, and it got braided and re-braided into endless patterns.

She tried to ignore the body beneath her clothes, and its possible uses to the Dark Lord.

Mid-morning on the fourth day in the round room, there was a knock at the door. Luna peered up at it, the polite sound alien to her ears. She sensed the wards unlatch from the outside and the big heavy door swung open. It was Professor Snape.

'Professor!' said Luna, just like that time some days ago. Her voice was in good condition, for she sang and hummed to keep it fresh even when she was alone.

'Miss Lovegood,' said Snape. He nodded at her with his familiar sour expression. 'I trust you are well?'

'Well enough,' said Luna.

He closed his eyes for a moment with a look of weariness. Luna sensed that Professor Snape was tired to the bone and she felt sorry for the man. How difficult it must be to see his former students fighting each other, dying and killing. 'The Dark Lord has requested your presence,' said Snape.

Luna bit her lip and looked at the floor. She loved the carpet pattern; it had peacocks and sparrows and flowers and medallions on it. Right now she would rather stay bored in the round room than see Voldemort. To behold _his_ countenance, once in a lifetime was one time too many.

'Sir?' she said to Snape. 'Do I have to?'

'Miss Lovegood,' Snape said, exasperated. 'I should have been more clear. Your presence is not requested, it is _ordered_.'

'Oh.'

'Stand up,' said Snape. 'For what it's worth, I – I don't think he's going to kill you.'

This was the worst thing Luna could have heard from Snape's lips. For if Voldemort was not going to kill her, what was he going to do?


	5. A Master's Game

**Author's Notes:** Thank you to the following reviewers: _jka1, Erin, Emeraldjewel, The Enchanted Teakettle, wildandclear, ravenfeather42, Voldiesgirl999, Pussin Boots, silverkitsune, lovenotknown, Voldy's pink teddie _(p.s. I do love your username! Great fun), _Ursula-Este, Kiki,_ _Femmc, _and _LemoN-X-DroP._ I don't respond to individual reviews as much as I would like to, but please know that I read and appreciate each and every comment. Life gets in the way of my time in the fanfiction world (drats) so it will have to be blanket thanks for the most part.

This is a short chapter, but to make up for it, the next update will be sooner. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does.

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

**Chapter Five**

**A Master's Game**

Luna was still barefoot as she followed Professor Snape down the hall of the Riddle House. Beneath her feet she felt the grain of the hardwood, punctuated by long carpet runners in dark colours. When Harry Potter described Lord Voldemort's father's home, he said it was decrepit and falling-apart after decades of vacancy. Apparently 12 Grimmauld Place had not been the only headquarters to undergo a renovation.

She expected to go back into the big empty throne room where Voldemort interrogated her last time, but instead they went down some stairs and entered another wing of the house. Luna was all turned around, disorientated, and stole looks about her while keeping Snape's back in front of her vision. She was also aware of the two hulking dark Death Eaters that trailed them, keeping an eye on her, the prisoner.

Snape knocked on a door and the voice issued forth, that voice that for three days had haunted Luna's thoughts, and she braced herself for whatever may come. Snape held the door open for her and closed it behind them; it relieved Luna to have her old professor with her in the room, for whatever that was worth.

It was the library, filled with more tomes than Luna had ever seen, barring the stacks of Hogwarts. She glanced over the titles nearest to her, eager to avoid looking at Voldemort; most of the books were on the Dark Arts. Luna had the thought that if he wanted to make some extra money, he could open up a bookstore, with owl-post order. Her eyes caught on one book in particular, with the title '_Dark Arts Dream Divination_' in gold leaf lettering on a blue leather binding.

'Luna Lovegood.'

The smooth-as-silk voice floated through the air, caressing Luna's ears with unpleasant tingling. She turned her face toward Lord Voldemort.

He stood next to the fireplace, a book open in his hands, and the golden light of the fire did nothing to warm his skin. He gave a quirk of a smile, an ugly sight on his thin lips. 'Please, sit,' he said. 'You and I are going to play a game of chess. I'm tired of Severus.'

A small noise came from Snape's direction, but Luna could not discern what it meant. The former potions professor stood with hands clasped near the door. He was stiff as a board, uncomfortable, and looked as though he would rather be anywhere else but Voldemort's library. However, Luna was happy to have a chaperone; for some ridiculous reason she felt that Voldemort would not kill her or torture her in front of her former teacher. It was probably the worst kind of wishful thinking, but wishes were the only thing Luna had this week.

She looked around for the chess board and found it, centred on the fireplace and flanked by two grand armchairs. She sat down at Voldemort's invitation, feeling dwarfed by the chair, and clasped her hands in her lap. Her bare feet twitched. She looked with dread upon the chess set; the pieces swayed and moved in anticipation, and each one was like marble death. Voldemort's chess set had large pieces, large squares, and the figures had skulls as faces and wicked sharp weapons. Luna had chosen the side of black, leaving white for Voldemort. White like death, white like his skin, white as a bitter irony of the days when everything seemed light and happy.

White always made the first move.

'Normally I play chess with Snape over there, or Lucius Malfoy before he… fell out of favour,' said Voldemort. 'But Snape is getting so predictable.'

Luna, who thought Professor Snape was anything but predictable, nodded. She waited as Voldemort sat opposite her, grateful that she had an excuse to look down at the chessboard rather than at his horrible face. He began the game by moving the king's bishop's pawn two spaces forward. It was aggressive. Luna matched the move on her turn. She would be lucky just to keep up with Voldemort's strategy.

It was a surprisingly even game for awhile; Luna played with no rhyme or reason, so Voldemort could not anticipate her. And Voldemort's carefully laid plans and cunning moves did not provoke the response in Luna that could be expected from a rational thinking person. The game went on, tilting in favour of Voldemort more and more, but the fight was fair. When Voldemort moved his queen in a quick lash at Luna's bishop, she saw the outcome; two moves later she was checkmated. Her king let out a groan, crumpled over, and died.

After Luna's chess defeat, Voldemort ordered Snape away on 'the errand we discussed earlier.' Luna keenly felt the absence of the Potions Master, the dearth of hope encircling her to leave her defenseless. She had no choice but to surrender to the situation. _Have faith,_ she told herself, but the old words did not give their usual comfort.

Voldemort sat back in satisfaction, eyeing Luna. 'The medallion around your neck. It is from Tibet, yes?'

Luna nodded affirmation. She did not like the glint in Voldemort's eyes as he looked at the big silver skull hanging from her neck. For a moment she contemplated telling him that it was a gift, that it was special, that it was for protection and made her think of her father. Then she thought better of it; for Voldemort to know the skull's significance would make him want to destroy it, Luna was sure.

'It is for protection,' Voldemort said, and he laughed softly.

She turned her head away from him.

'I want it.'

'Pardon?' Luna said. _No, no, no_, she thought.

'I want to wear it. Take it off your neck.' Voldemort stretched out a white hand for Luna to drop the medallion.

She got a lump in her throat as she reached up and untied the heavy black ribbon, loosening the necklace and letting it slide off her neck. She held it out and after a moment's hesitation she let go, letting it drop into Voldemort's hand without touching him. A sob threatened to escape her throat as she saw her last vestige of home and safety, her defiant skull necklace, now in the hands of white death.

Voldemort peered at the artefact closely and made a small noise of satisfaction. 'This is valuable,' he said. 'And ancient. Yet look how it resembles my Mark! I invented my own symbol independent of Tibetan magic, yet it is a universal sigil of power.' Voldemort glanced up at Luna. 'Your precious Order of the Phoenix did not object to your wearing this?'

'Compared to some of my other jewelry, I think they found the skull to be relatively normal,' said Luna.

Voldemort swung the necklace wide and held the two thick pieces of black ribbon together behind his neck. 'Tie it,' he said.

Luna shuddered. But she stood up and crossed over to where Voldemort sat. She was so close to him that she imagined a cold, poisonous aura shimmering off his skin. She leaned forward and took the ribbons, brushing his hands as she did so, and then with fingers moving as fast as she could make them, Luna tied the necklace secure. It was impossible to ignore the feel of his skin: smooth, almost soft. Warm, as though he were a normal human being. But so unnatural was his pale hue that even as she bent forward away from his face, Luna did not forget this was the Dark Lord.

'There,' she said, stepping away with relief.

'Do I frighten you?' Voldemort asked with clear relish.

'Yes,' said Luna.

It made her angry to think it, but the skull medallion suited Voldemort. It was a masculine artefact to begin with, worn by Luna with her usual carelessness for gender propriety, and now the skull seemed to come into its own as it rested on Voldemort's breast. Luna imagined the skull's eyes glowing dim and red, and she vowed to never wear the thing again, even if Voldemort should return it to her.

'Step forward,' said Voldemort.

'Please –' Luna whispered. Following his voice, her feet moved as though of independent mind. She took two steps toward Voldemort and again stood mere inches away from his seated frame.

'Kneel.'

Luna's heart knocked in her chest and she felt blood pulsing through her veins. What new thing was this? She knew that Voldemort adored having followers; it was apparent whenever his Death Eaters bowed and slobbered in his presence and the Dark Lord got that gloating, mocking, self-satisfied look on his features. Perhaps he just wanted to see Luna kneel of her own accord.

From the corner, Nagini hissed and it sounded like laughter as Luna sank down onto her knees.

Like a snake striking out at its prey, Voldemort's hands reached out and snatched Luna's haphazard braid of hair, unknotting it so that it fell loose about her face. She let out a little whimper of pain and fear as he tugged at her hair, pulling it with rough purpose, destroying the braid in the back. Then, suddenly, Voldemort's hands turned gentle. He raked his fingers along her scalp, caressing it, moving in soft, wide circles. He held the strands of Luna's pale hair and let them fall away again, playing with it as though he'd never seen hair before.

She stared down at the floor in front of his feet, afraid to look up.

Then swift again, as Voldemort bent forward and jerked her head up at a tight angle. She felt his tongue run along beneath her jaw, heading toward her ear. Luna could not breathe, so instead she let the experience wash over her, trying not to judge, feeling a little bit outside of herself. She felt a trail of cool air on the skin of her jaw where Voldemort had licked it.

He leaned back in perfect stillness. 'Look in my eyes.'

Luna obliged him, no longer frightened now that her consciousness floated somewhere in the white place where peace resided. When her grey eyes met his red ones, she knew that he read her thoughts, saw the residue of her disgust and terror. This pleased him and the red glow of his eyes brightened as he saw it. Luna held the gaze. After a moment, Voldemort's lips flicked down into a scowl, and it was clear that residue did not satisfy him. He wanted Luna to be frightened again.

'Go,' said Voldemort.

She did not need to be told twice. With light and quiet steps she scurried out of the room and was met outside by her two Death Eater guards.


	6. Hatching a Plan

**Author's Notes: **My customary thanks to the reviewers, I appreciate all of you muchly! _MandaPandaAR, The Enchanted Teakettle, Meshpets, jka1, wildandclear, Voldiesgirl666, Witch of Darkness, _and _X-Tina Eddie's Mamacita_.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does.

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

**Chapter Six**

**Hatching a Plan**

Something bad must have happened in Voldemort's headquarters, because in the days after that terrifying incident where the Dark Lord deigned to touch Luna, she was left alone again in her round room. She was surprised to discover that her walls did not have Imperturbable Charms on them; she could hear whispers, scurrying, an occasional shout that sounded like alarm. Screams as though someone were being tortured. A sense of Dark magic being done, spells cast with desperation, and Luna's strong intuition leading her to know of it. She allowed herself a few glorious moments to imagine that the Order of the Phoenix had arrived and she would be rescued.

No one ever came for her.

The noises calmed down after a few days. Luna's meals continued to be sent up by house-elf magic and were unvarying in the fare; she lost more weight. She did not think it possible. Her collarbone now jutted out of her skin in a most unattractive way and her hands looked like they belonged on a skeleton. The thought came unbidden that Voldemort liked skulls and perhaps he wanted Luna to look like one.

On the fifth day it started to feel like a pattern when Snape entered Luna's room after a gentle knock. 'Miss Lovegood,' he said, just as he'd always said it.

Luna could not help staring at Snape. He looked terrible. There were dark purple circles under his eyes, which were more sunken into his face than ever before. His skin was pale and sallow, his lips taut, and he moved slowly as though every muscle were in the aftermath of pain. It was then that Luna understood the screams she'd heard: Voldemort must have been in a temper. Snape had been under the Cruciatus Curse, she guessed. For all her pity toward her former professor, Luna felt thankful she'd not been targeted again as an object of wrath by the Dark Lord.

'Sir?' she asked. 'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' Snape said brusquely. 'He wants to see you.'

'Professor, you don't look well,' Luna persisted. She wanted to hear it from Snape's lips so that she might understand what Voldemort was angry about. It would prepare her for what she was about to face.

'The Dark Lord has suffered a setback,' said Snape. 'The past few days have been – difficult. We all bore the brunt of it.' It was the only concession Snape would make to his own torture. 'The Order has done something that weakens, and yet strengthens, Lord Voldemort. You may find him changed. Don't be fooled, he is still what he always was.'

A wrinkle marred Luna's brow as she took in this information. Her mind, ever working, came up with some fantastic scenarios. She considered the possibility that the Dark Lord was allergic to the rare but powerful Turtlevine Pollen that could be found in more obscure shops in Knockturn Alley. It was used for wisdom and knowledge, but people with allergies tended to see too much and their eyes quadrupled in size to give a strange bug-like look. Some of the meaner girls at Hogwarts had accused Luna of being under the influence because she had big eyes and saw too much. But then, she doubted Voldemort would be allergic to something like that, and besides he would have tested it first... what could it be, then?

'Follow me,' said Snape.

They went to the room where Luna first encountered Lord Voldemort, the bare-bones throne room on the second floor of the mansion. It was silent inside. None of the witchlights were lit, leaving the task to the flickering green-orange flames of the dying fireplace. At first Luna thought Voldemort had yet to enter, for she did not see anyone in the room. Then she noticed a tall figure standing in the shadows, silhouetted by the window, a man with dark hair. Another Death Eater?

The man turned and Luna could not help the expression of surprise that showed on her face. It was Voldemort. He had dark hair on his previously bald head, shining and thick hair that shone in the firelight. His face was disgusting as ever, but Luna saw a bit more bone structure, a more defined nose. The skin still looked waxen and white, melting over once-handsome features. His eyes were ever crimson.

His appearance was confusing. Had he done some kind of spell to change his appearance, a glamour perhaps? Luna did not think Voldemort the kind of person to care much about his appearance aside from the art of terrifying people. Now he looked at her with an expression of disdain and amusement, these emotions warped by the face on which they showed.

'You look different,' she blurted.

Snape ducked out of the room with a bow.

'Yes,' said Voldemort. 'You can blame your little friends for that. I cannot help the change in my appearance.'

'It's an improvement,' said Luna. 'It's nice hair.'

'Mmm,' said Voldemort. He brought his fingers up to his hair, touching a lock of it that fell across his forehead. Then, swift as a striking snake, he crossed the room and grabbed Luna by the shoulders. 'How many have they destroyed?' he hissed.

'Wha-what?' She felt his presence plunge forward, invading her precious privacy, tearing through the thoughts that floated in her brain. 'What are you talking about?'

'The _artefacts_, you stupid girl. You know about them. You've been holding back information!' A note of hysteria sounded in Voldemort's voice. 'Tell me the truth!'

'I've told you all I know!' Luna protested. She had the fleeting thought that these Hogwarts artefacts might be very important to Lord Voldemort, a thought that he snatched up from inside her head. 'They said something about a cup. Hufflepuff and a cup. They destroyed it, I guess… please, my Lord, stop!' she let out a desperate sob, sinking to the floor as her own identity vanished under his mental assault.

'The cup,' Voldemort said, breaking the gaze. 'The diary, the cup, the ring…' He glanced down at Luna as though just realizing her presence and that he was thinking aloud. 'No wonder,' he said.

'I d-don't understand,' Luna stammered.

'No, you wouldn't,' said Voldemort. He whirled away and gazed out the window again. Luna was too afraid to say anything to him. For all his mad temper, Voldemort seemed younger, more energetic, more dangerous. He seemed more whole, and she sensed his energy structure seething and churning, full of anger. His essence reduced, youth restored. Luna stayed sitting on the floor. She waved at Nagini, curled in her spot by the fireplace, glad even for the familiarity of the murderous snake.

The room was so dark. Luna wished for a light, something to focus on. Instead, there was a gentle knock on the door. 'Enter,' said Voldemort from the window.

Snape came back in, bowing at the Dark Lord's back. 'Master,' he said.

'Fine, fine,' said Voldemort. He waved a white hand, a flash in the shadows.

'Miss Lovegood, come with me,' said Snape. 'Back to your room.'

Luna scrambled up off the floor, melting into Snape's wake, happy to leave Voldemort's company. They glided along in silence back to Luna's room with the round window. 'Sit down,' Snape said, nodding at Luna's bed. He sat in her dusty armchair and slumped over in weariness.

She obeyed her former professor, looking at him with frank and open honesty. She had no reason to trust Snape, yet she did. There was something sympathetic about him now that Luna had never detected in her years at Hogwarts, but then, the war changed everybody.

'I think you deserve to know,' said Snape. 'Obviously you are already aware that the great Mr. Potter has sought, and found, ancient magical artefacts connected with the founders of Hogwarts. These are important to Voldemort.'

'Yes,' said Luna.

'Do you know why, Miss Lovegood?'

'No.'

Snape sighed. 'I'm going to teach you something. I think your mind will be well-suited for this skill. I'd have thought the Order taught it, but – I digress. Occlumency. You must learn it.'

'Oh!' said Luna. 'Professor Moody tried to teach me that, once. He said I couldn't focus long enough, that I had a wild mind.' She shrugged. 'I guess he was right. This one time, we were having a lesson, and there was this wonderful cloud right out the window, it looked just like a harpsichord! Not a piano, because those are bigger and less square, but a real harpsichord! Isn't that remarkable? I thought it was conjured by somebody. In the sky –'

'_Miss Lovegood_.'

'Sorry,' said Luna. 'He said that's why I couldn't learn Occlumency.'

'Actually,' said Snape, 'we're going to use that quality for your benefit. Whenever someone tries to use Legilimency on you – say, the Dark Lord – then I want you to let yourself become distracted. Any intruders in your mind will simply think you insane. This is a good impression, and,' he made a wry face, 'almost accurate.'

Luna felt a little hurt. She didn't like being called loony just because other people didn't understand. But Snape was not one to care about hurt feelings and she accepted this.

'Right now I'm not strong enough to perform Legilimency as practise,' said Snape. 'But I will teach you some exercises to do on your own, to discipline your mind against invasion, to let other thoughts rise up in the place of important information. Can you promise you'll practise?'

'All right,' said Luna, thinking of her nightly Seer Stretches. She could just add Occlumency to her routine.

After that, Snape taught her some meditations and ways to control her thoughts. For a flighty mind like Luna's, this was difficult, but Snape told her to let it work for her. 'Let your thoughts be wild and off-track,' he said. 'Have the most ridiculous thoughts possible. Cultivate them. Use them.'

She thought she could do it. After all, her thoughts were like bright clouds skittering across the sky, flowing this way and that, never touching the great expanse beyond that Luna knew was her true mind. She liked the principle of distraction; her thoughts were expression but not form, an illusion in the same way that red-painted nails distracted the eye from the fingers that grew them.

It gave her the first hope of hiding herself from Voldemort's wicked, all-knowing gaze.

Voldemort did not summon her for several days and Snape made covert visits to Luna's room, looking exhausted and wary of noises from the outside. He told her not to tell anyone that he'd been coaching her or even talking to her; Luna replied that she had none to tell aside from Voldemort.

'He knows,' said Snape. 'I've told him I'm brainwashing you. Which I am, in a way.'

'Professor?' said Luna during their fourth Occlumency session.

'Yes.' Snape rubbed his dark eyes, not looking at her.

'Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?'

'Because,' said Snape. 'Because you are an innocent, Miss Lovegood. You are a rare find in this terrible age.'

'I don't understand.'

'Think, Miss Lovegood. Think hard.'

Luna did. She knew she was innocent in mind and body still; even the betrayal of her capture and torture could not change that. The part of Luna that was innocent would survive even her death, she knew, for it was deathless and formless and unbreakable. But why might Professor Snape value this so? She decided that he must despise Voldemort more than anyone, for Voldemort prevented him having a normal life. Voldemort made the situation where his students killed each other in a circular war that got worse by the day. Voldemort put him under the Cruciatus Curse, just because of a bad mood.

Then it crystallized, and the realization was huge and dangerous and filled Luna with wild hope that fluttered about like a frantic eagle. 'You're the Source,' she breathed.

'I am,' said Snape. 'I'm surprised you did not deduce it sooner. Who else could it be?'

Luna was too embarrassed to admit her theory about the bug Animagus that buzzed around Voldemort's face as he gave orders.

'That's enough teaching for one day,' said Snape. He stood up. 'Finish your exercises before you sleep tonight. One more lesson should be sufficient, I think. You're doing well.'

The praise made a little pleasant squirm in Luna's chest. It was nice to hear that she was good at something; it made her think of her childhood dance tutor Madame Dunblatt, and how Luna had been told she did the best waltz in a decade.

'And for heaven's sake, eat more,' Snape finished. 'I'll have the house-elves send up more food, you look like a skeleton.'

With mean effort, Luna tried to eat more and filled out a bit, but not enough to make much of a difference. She was still stick-thin and there was nothing to be done about her height. Other little luxuries came from the house-elves: the equipment for a sponge bath, her toilette at last to normal standards of hygiene. The last Occlumency lesson was held and Snape declared her ready to face Lord Voldemort again. Luna was not so sure; she was by now quite certain that Voldemort did not have mere interrogation in mind for her. How was she to defend herself?

No time to think about it. A knock on her door and the hope that it was Snape was dashed: two masked Death Eaters stepped in. One of them held a long box which he tossed on Luna's made bed. 'The Dark Lord requests your presence in an hour,' said the unfamiliar man behind the skull mask. 'Put that on.' He jerked his head at the box and the two Death Eaters left.

Her hands trembled as she removed the lid of the box, with what emotion Luna could not name. It was clothing, of course, and her heart did a triple-flip as she beheld the dress.

It was exactly the thing Luna would have chosen for herself. Deep indigo silk with a pattern of diamond beads beginning at the draped shoulder, like a shower of stars, down the front to a fishtail hemline; the back was entirely exposed. Also in the box were a pair of pretty pointed shoes in a whimsical crystalline design and a tiny jewelry case. This latter she pulled open to find a pair of large carat sapphire stud earrings.

Luna loved the clothes. But she hated the man who sent them, if he could even be called a man, and the dread that overwhelmed her was acute. Voldemort wanted her to look _good_, and that could not mean anything nice for her. One hour and the Dark Lord expected her.

The panic loomed beyond her awareness and she pushed it away and Luna did something that made her feel better. She laid out the dress on her bed, preparing it to be put on at the last second. The sapphire studs went into her ears, made difficult after weeks of not wearing earrings, but she managed. Her old tattered black dress came off and Luna sat naked in the middle of her floor. She put her fingers in a _mudra _position and went over Snape's Occlumency instructions again, preparing her mind, strengthening her defenses. After fifteen minutes of this, she let herself sink deep down into her own consciousness, looking for the answer of what to do about Lord Voldemort. Time suspended. Her mind searched, this way and that, floating and flying above reality to discern its true shape.

She could not help the feeling that she was betraying the Order simply by staying alive. Any of the others, Luna was sure, would have thrown themselves at the Dark Lord in an attempt to kill him, and not taken any ridiculous proposals such as Luna had. If they died, it was in a noble cause. But Luna lived, and in an instant she saw what Voldemort was doing to her: he was eroding away at her confidence in her friends, her loyalties, and making her feel a traitor. It was not her fault, but so easy to feel the blame. The emotion welled up and she let it come and go, moving on, let's find a solution here. _Be practical for once, Luna Lovegood_.

Lord Voldemort was terrifying. She let her mind approach his countenance without fear, as much as she could, and tried to get inside _his_ head. How could the insane be understood? Why, on their terms, of course. He wanted power, he had power, and control and mastery and intelligence. Culture, even, and good taste. A joy in the darkness, reveling in it, drinking the life-force of those around him, insatiable for blood.

Luna wanted to get under his skin. She could not believe that Voldemort was all evil, though he was mostly evil. There must be a core somewhere inside of him that remained sane and alive. For all humanity was born of love, even Voldemort, and it was deep and repressed but Luna felt sure it was there. Little Tom Riddle was overtaken but, Luna hoped, not defeated yet. How would she do it? How would she draw him out?

The grandfather clock beyond the non-Imperturbable charmed walls struck the hour. They would be coming for her. But like a chime inside her mind, a great clock whose gears moved into place, Luna knew what she must do. She inventoried her powers and arrived at one: she was a female.

If she went into this with eyes open, it might work. Voldemort would never expect it. He looked more human these days, although why this was, Luna had not a clue. It was easier to seduce a man with a head of nice black hair, however. She rose out of her meditation with a sense of inevitability: it was always going to come to this. She knew that Voldemort wanted to break her as a form of amusement, and for a young girl such as Luna there was a time-tested way of doing this. But if she could turn the tables on the Dark Lord, he would not know what hit him.

Whatever he did to her, she would act frightened (not difficult to do) but pretend to enjoy it at the same time. He would not understand her, an insurance policy against her death, for Luna knew that Voldemort would not destroy something he did not understand. She must allow the feminine mystery to suffuse her whole being and take him in. For a moment Luna wished that she was Ginny Weasley, who had feminine wiles in spades, plus a 'history' with Voldemort. It might make things easier. But Luna would just have to make do with her own self.

She took a deep breath, slid the exquisite dark gown over her head, got ready to play her little game with the Dark Lord. It was only a game, after all, and Luna knew enough to know that her body meant nothing. Her spirit she would lock away tight, preserved for when she got out of this mess.

The Order would not understand, but hopefully they never need know. She would keep Voldemort occupied, and keep herself alive, until rescue came. For although her body might serve the Dark Lord, Luna never would.

When the knock sounded on her door, she bid the Death Eaters entry with calm recollection.


	7. The Preservation of Innocence

**Author's Notes:** Thank you to my reviewers: _jka1, wildandclear, Ava Marie, Witch of Darkness, Emeraldjewel, Howl, potterlovegood, clooless, _and _The Enchanted Teakettle_.

In this chapter, the cerebral Luna gets a taste of what her plan will mean. Some things are better left in theory…

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**The Preservation of Innocence**

The elegant clothes made Luna feel more powerful. This had always been the case since she was a little girl. Clothing was an expression, an art form, and the more strength you could put into your style, the better. The dark dress suited Luna's tall lithe form like a second skin and she glided down the hall of the Riddle House as though _she_ directed the Death Eaters. She was not a prisoner, not in her own mind. That was enough.

What Voldemort had planned was a mystery, but Luna's stratagem was set. She was a woman first. Nature had equipped her with what she needed to fascinate any man, even a very evil one. She would just have to descend to his level of weirdness and sick imaginings. Her breath ran away from her as they stopped in front of Voldemort's 'throne room' and she regained control of herself. For the second time that evening, Luna wished she was someone else, like Professor McGonagall, perhaps. Now _there_ was a woman in control. Luna Lovegood was not steady enough to maintain this façade.

Snape's words echoed through her head: let her flightiness work for her. Play to her strengths. Be quirky and direct and unusual and don't let Voldemort gain on her. Luna made a gesture with her hands at the Death Eaters and knocked on Voldemort's doors with her own knuckles.

'Enter,' said he.

The atmosphere of the room was altered from how Luna had previously experienced it. A fire crackled in the hearth, in colours of comforting orange, though the tops of the flames licked green. It was pine wood burning, Luna could smell it. A good, wintery smell, like Christmas. A table for two was set off to the side, dressed with candlesticks and white tablecloth, place settings of silver and china and crystal goblets glinting in their luxury.

_Wonderful,_ thought Luna. A romantic dinner.

Voldemort lounged in his big carved throne chair. Nagini draped herself around his shoulders and with a quick hissed word, Voldemort directed the snake away. She slithered off and coiled up next to the fire, warming herself. 'You need to eat something,' Voldemort said to Luna. 'You're too thin.'

Pot calling the kettle black. 'You're not the first to tell me I'm too thin,' said Luna. 'Maybe if you let me get out more –'

He made a hissing noise of displeasure. 'Do not solicit favors from Lord Voldemort,' he said. 'Sit down at the table.'

Luna obeyed him. Voldemort crossed the room and sat down opposite her.

'If only Wormtail were still around to wait on us,' he sighed, glancing over at Nagini with an expression of regret.

The meal was the best Luna had eaten in a very long time. Voldemort had high tastes, confirming her speculations of him. The wine, a dark red Bordeaux of a good vintage, went smoothly down the throat and even Luna could find an appetite for the goat's cheese salad, the wild-grain rice, the perfect ragout. They ate in silence and Luna could not shake the feeling that Voldemort's thoughts were far away from her, and he did not register much of her presence. She did not know him well enough to tell for certain, but he seemed preoccupied.

In the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, when the group ate meals together around that big kitchen table, Harry Potter often held the same expression. It was hard work leading an entire side of a wizarding war, Luna surmised. She thought that Harry and Voldemort actually had so much in common, they might benefit from sitting down together and complaining about their problems. She knew better than to suggest it aloud. Instead she stared with wide eyes at the room around her, pretending she was somewhere else.

When their dessert appeared before them, chocolate soufflés topped with single red cherries, Luna watched in trepidation as Voldemort brought his attention, his ruby eyes, back onto her.

'You're much better company than Snape,' said Voldemort.

'I haven't spoken a word, my Lord,' Luna said. 'Is that good company?'

'It's a strength to know when to keep quiet,' said Voldemort.

'I just had nothing to say.'

A few moments passed as they ate the soufflés. Voldemort ate only half and then pushed it away, swallowing the last of his wine with a quick sip. Luna ate the whole of her soufflé; though it was at Voldemort's table, chocolate was still chocolate. It helped her to think straight.

'My Lord?' she began.

'Yes?'

'Why do you have hair?'

A pause. Luna thought she'd gone too far. She hadn't meant to be so blunt, but that was her manner and there was no changing it.

'The change in my appearance is a by-product of a magical process which has begun, at first without my knowledge, but is now apparent,' said Voldemort.

Well. That was about as clear as mud. 'What process?' Luna asked.

'And you don't know, little one?' he hissed, leaning forward, malevolent again. 'Your precious Order did not tell you?'

'No,' said Luna honestly. 'Does it have to do with Hesselwhite's Hair Re-growth Potion? I saw some in the store one day and thought the bottle was so funny, shaped like a man's head with that green stuff sticking out the top –'

'Hush. It is not the re-growth potion. For goodness' sake, do you think I would stoop to such things? I liked being bald.'

'Bald suits you,' admitted Luna. 'Forgive me, but you don't look as frightening with all that nice hair.'

'Oh, no?' Voldemort's voice was quiet now, amused. 'You find me more… human?'

'Mmhmm,' Luna nodded. She tried to push away the disquiet that intruded; she didn't like the glint in Voldemort's eye. He _was_ more human with the black hair and the more defined form of nose and brow, but at the same time he was anything but human. He was a monster. It was the eyes, Luna knew; nothing could take away the evil that resided behind them.

It was time to cut to the chase.

'My Lord, why did you invite me here tonight? You've got to have better people to dine with. Am I entertaining you, or something?'

Voldemort smiled, a terrible cruel smile, barely showing his teeth behind his lips. 'I look more human,' he said. 'It is not just my appearance. I feel more human. This food tastes… more intense. I can feel my breath entering my lungs… I feel alive… I am rather enjoying it, despite the unfortunate circumstance that has brought it about. I swear I will punish those responsible…' his voice rose to an incoherent little hiss of rage, but turned around to normal with frightening speed. 'My body is returning to the fitness of the man I once was. I am strong.

'How strange, the way things work out, Miss Lovegood…I did not anticipate this, and yet what a fortunate accident that I allowed you to survive after all. It was foresight on my part to keep you alive… you have a use for me. And as of late, I have become aware of certain – desires – which have been long dormant.'

The Dark Lord stood as he said the word 'desires' and glided behind Luna's chair. Her lungs stopped working for a moment. _No, please no, he can't mean what I think he means_, her mind rambled, in spite of the vow she'd taken earlier to use her body and her charms to her advantage. Faced with the real possibility of it, the seduction took on a horrendous tinge, an affront to all that was good and right and just. She couldn't do it, she just couldn't.

His hands came to rest on her thin shoulders, not with force, but their presence was like an icy lead weight upon her. He leaned his head over the chair to whisper in her ear. 'Stand up.'

Luna's eyes were wide and scared, but he could not see them from behind her. She blinked the fear away, rapid flutters of her eyelashes, gaining strength with each beat. She must be brave. Luna was an actress playing a role. Her spirit would never succumb, would never descend to Voldemort's level. He was nothing to her, _nothing, nothing, nothing, please_…

'Please, My Lord,' she said, not bothering to conceal the tremor in her voice. Luna figured the sound of fear would ignite Voldemort's interest. She was right.

'Be scared, little one, be afraid. I'm going to do terrible things to you.' His hands struck forward and grabbed her by the hips, twirling her around to face him, and she let out a genuine little squeak of terror. He laughed, high and breathy, almost like a woman's laugh.

Luna was tall, but Voldemort was taller, so he had to bend his head down to take her lower lip between his teeth and bite down on it. She tasted her own blood, coppery like shiny new fear. She tasted Voldemort's tongue invading her mouth, swirling and possessing her, and in cruel dichotomy the chocolate was there too, a hint of safety and pleasure.

Whatever magical process was turning Voldemort into a more human creature, Luna wanted it to stop. He had the needs of a man combined with the cold reptilian strategy of his monstrous mind and Luna was the target of it. He had her exposed, helpless, quivering in his power in the black despair that there was no one to help her now. The fire behind them crackled and popped as though responding to the events unfolding before it. The corners of the room were black, growing darker by the moment as the tapered candles on the dinner table burned down to waxen puddles in their holders.

A ripping sound. The dress, rags at her feet. A thud as her knees came down to the floor. She was naked now, pendulum swinging between acting the part in cool distance, and giving in to the utter terror that gripped the outer part of her soul.

'Pleasure and pain, all the same,' said Voldemort in a sing-song. He raced his nails across the skin of her flat abdomen, spidery long sharp fingers that drew rows of beaded blood. 'You won't know the difference anymore.' His touch turned into a caress, firm but gentle, that went up the back of her legs and wound around to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Luna was choked with fright, fright and something else she could not name. A heat in her belly, a heavy longing in her throat.

She bled from the scratches on her stomach, enough to sting, but not enough to induce real damage. Her lip bled too, where Voldemort had bit it, and while his glance was directed downward she tugged at the wound with her tongue, sucking the blood off, nursing it a little.

Then Voldemort shoved her down so that her head felt the rough wood floor. Luna was flat on her back now. Her chest heaved up and down. The worst part of what happened next was that Voldemort did not do what Luna expected him to do. There was no invasion. As she was his prisoner, Voldemort could afford to draw her out over time.

His touch was slight. He used his fingers, working magic, gentle until she could not bear it, her soul at war with her body. She had never felt anything like it. And she knew that was Voldemort's goal, to make her despise herself for enjoying this, to erase the lines between physical pleasure and the horrid, wracking guilt for surrendering to it. From now on, she would never be able to have a normal relationship without thinking of _him_.

It took only a few minutes and she cried out and he left her there on the floor, a smile of evil satisfaction on his face as he glanced with approval over her body in the dim light. She did not register him when he left, closing the door softly behind him, for numbness and afterglow spread through her nerves. It felt almost like after the Cruciatus Curse, in this very room, different beginning but same ending.

Minutes that passed could not be counted. Luna lay there like a rag doll, trying to collect her storming thoughts, bringing her body back under control. Dimly she was aware of Nagini, hissing and slithering along beside her, curling up next to her and settling in for a nap. Luna turned her head and focused her gaze on the living breathing scales of the great snake and for an inexplicable reason the sight calmed her. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at Nagini.

'We're both Voldemort's girls now,' she said. It made her giggle, harder and harder until she was laughing. Nagini opened her eyes and Luna's intuition about animals thought she saw serpentine laughter there, and understanding too. 'Let's be friends, you and I,' she whispered to Nagini. 'He'll be under female control, which is what all men should be. Dark Lords, too.' A quote came to her. 'Behind every great man,' she told the snake, 'there was a greater woman.'

Luna reached out with her hand and gently ran a finger down Nagini's nose. She felt a brief shudder of fear as Nagini raised her head, but it was only to hiss with contentment and turn her triangle-shaped head into Luna's hand. In spite of everything, Luna had not lost her touch with animals, a fact that cured her of her turmoil better than anything else could.

It was no small effort to put her fine dress back on, for it was torn and she had to hold the sides together with her hand. Luna was not embarrassed about it and opened the door of Voldemort's throne room to peek her head out. Her two Death Eater guards were there; they must have been waiting for her.

'Back this way,' one of them said gruffly, jerking his head.

'What are your names?' she asked the guards.

There was silence in response.

'Oh, come on,' said Luna. 'Have some manners. You do have names, right?'

One of the guards sighed. 'We're not supposed to say.' He had a heavy East End London accent and pronounced it like 'suppowsed to sai.'

'You're from London,' Luna said.

'He can't escape his roots,' said the other guard, who had a just-as-bad Yorkshire accent, which Luna was quick to point out.

'And I'm from Cornwall, myself,' she added. 'But Hogwarts gave me the public-school accent. So neither of you went to Hogwarts? Do I know you?'

'I went to Durmstrang,' said the one with the Yorkshire accent.

'I was – erm – home-schooled?' said the other one.

'Oh,' said Luna. 'How fun for you, getting to do whatever you wanted.' They were almost to her door. 'Well, since you won't tell me your names, I'll have to call you _something_. You, I'll call Yorkie –' she pointed at the Yorkshire Death Eater, who grunted in protest, '—and you, I'll call… um… Smiley.'

'Smiley?' the London Death Eater said, sounding incredulous behind his mask. 'That's stupid!'

'Then give me your real name,' Luna said.

Smiley made an unintelligible noise but did not give his real name, so Luna stuck with her own christenings. 'Good night, Yorkie. Good night, Smiley,' she said as they reached her own door. 'Sleep tight, don't let the bed-bugs bite! And watch out for Invisible Bed Fliers, too. At this time of year, they're breeding.' She closed the door on their faces, shooting a little grin as she saw both masked heads tilted at her as though in puzzlement, and then once the door was latched behind her she slid down onto the floor, no longer smiling.

Luna had the shakes. The pleasure that had torn through her body still echoed in her cells, thrumming on its own, and it reminded Luna of who was responsible. A tear slid down her cheek, one tear that turned into a river, cooling her cheeks that burned.

Is that what it was about? If so, Luna finally understood what the big deal was. She had arched into Voldemort's touch like a dark limitless craving, sating a hunger she hadn't even known she possessed. And whatever else the white monster may have been, he certainly knew what he was doing in that field. It could not have been the first time the Dark Lord used sex as control. And it aroused in Luna another emotion she was unaccustomed to: anger.

So Voldemort thought he could control her just like that. The arrogance was disgusting. He could use her, abuse her, and make her like it. That's what _he_ knew.

It took more than expert touching to tie down the wild, free spirit of Luna Lovegood. She would make her body divorced from it, let it run riot beneath his ministrations, and she would turn the tables on that rotten bastard and he wouldn't know what hit him. If her hunch was correct, Voldemort did not think too highly about the cunning of the female brain, or indeed any brain in comparison to his own. He would never suspect that Luna could pull it off: playing his mistress and learning and observing and biding her time until she could destroy him.

Her eyes had stopped their tears now, just as she wanted to cry with the force of her idea. Her hands clenched into fists.

Really, it was a one-in-a-million chance for the Order of the Phoenix. One of their own was on intimate terms with Voldemort. Luna might be an even better source than Snape. She would be the secret weapon. She would let Voldemort think he controlled her, that he'd turned her, even. She would take the Dark Mark and grovel and serve and allow him access to her body and oh, how he would revel in it. Then, when the time came, Luna would unlock the secret castle doors and let Harry Potter in, lead him to destroy the Dark Lord once and for all. Right now it was the only possibility that would keep her wanting to live, the only way to justify her survival. She had to hang onto it.

She could not wait to see the look on Voldemort's face when she betrayed him.

Once her vow was settled by calm reflection and planning, the anger was soothed and it disappeared. Luna was not the sort to hold on to such emotions, anyway. They got in the way of life. What was done was done. And she did her Seer Stretches, she slipped between her clean white sheets, and she dreamed that she was riding on Abacus, high up in the clouds, soaring free in the sunshine with green earth on one side and blue sky on the other.


	8. Sieve

**Author's Notes: **Thanks to the reviewers as usual! _Wildandclear, Amarthiel, Voldiesgirl999, Witch of Darkness, SarahColdheart, Squiggles.Candi, rayvern, _and _potterlovegood_, cheers to all.

This chapter earns its R rating, so be forewarned. I will take a moment to clarify the events of last chapter, as well: Voldemort did not go 'all the way' with Luna, a point that becomes important in this chapter. He is thus able to invoke some ancient magic. However, I will not go into graphic detail… I don't like writing explicit stuff (torture incl), so I try to keep it as euphemistic as possible.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**Sieve**

When Luna awoke the morning after her first literal taste of Voldemort, the first thing she noticed was the sunlight streaming through the glittering colour of the rose window. The second thing she noticed was a large hulking armoire in the corner of the room that had not been there before. The third thing Luna noticed was the little table with a stack of books on it.

This last got her straight out of bed. Reading material! Like any good Ravenclaw, Luna loved books, and she was curious to see what had been provided her.

She picked up the books one by one and read the titles. Two were novels, one called 'Le Morte d'Arthur' although it appeared written in English, and the other was called 'The Shining,' by a Muggle author, to Luna's surprise. The others were texts: one on Divination, one on the history of the Naga as written by an Indian magician named 'Naresh Yogi', and a third large tome entitled 'Loyalty and the Dark Arts.'

Curiosity piqued, Luna got out of bed and walked across the room to the armoire. She pulled it open, half expecting a Boggart or some worse surprise, but found clothing instead. She was delighted to see her red high heels resting on the bottom row of shoes; they must have found them in her satchel that was Reducio-ed for her trip to France. For a homecoming Luna put the red shoes on and walked around the room in them. They added a good three inches to her height. She hummed a tune to herself, flipped her hair over her shoulder, admired the way her feet looked as a foil to the hatred of the rest of her body this morning.

It was when she heard a noise outside her door that Luna froze, abashed at how she'd been prancing in the shoes. It occurred to her that she looked like one of those centre-fold girls in 'British Playwitch', stark naked aside from those sexy red heels. The shoes came off at once. She grabbed the first thing she saw out of the armoire: a set of long robes that were a flattering tone of powder blue and fitted her perfectly. There. She was decent.

'Come in,' she said.

It was Smiley and Yorkie. They stood in the doorframe in dumb silence until she said something again.

'Hello?' she tried out the greeting.

It was Smiley who answered. ''ello,' he said, and she knew it was him from the way he dropped his 'h'.

'Miss, we're supposed to make sure you're comfortable,' added Yorkie as though the idea of a comfortable prisoner were alien to him. Perhaps Luna was the first.

'Oh,' said Luna. 'Yes. But do you have a copy of the _Quibbler_ I can read?'

'Sorry,' said Smiley. 'We're not supposed to give you newspapers.'

'It's not a newspaper, it's a magazine,' said Luna. It suddenly became of utmost importance that she see a copy of her father's publication. She wanted to know that he was still alive and working and not gone mad with worry about her. But such comforts were not for Luna anymore. The Death Eaters shook their heads independent of each other, denying her.

'Anything else, though?' Smiley made the effort at deference like only a Cockney could do.

'What day is it?' Luna asked, casual in tone, as though it were an off-hand comment.

'It's the third of October,' said Yorkie.

Luna gave a little shrug with her shoulders as though she did not care. And indeed the vagaries of time were not for her care under normal circumstances. But here and now the date was vital information: she had been a captive for almost a month. A quick calculation of the moon, her namesake, and she figured that it was approaching full again. No wonder things were starting to happen. And although she would not see it out her stained-glass window, it made Luna happy to know that the shining white disc, the light in the darkness, would bathe the land in happy peace once again. She was approaching the height of her power.

'Can I have my wand back?' Luna tried something else.

The Death Eaters chortled in laughter at her. 'No, miss,' said Smiley through the expressionless skull mask that could not manage amusement.

'Drat,' she said. 'I'm going to read now.' She hummed a little tune under her breath as she tucked her legs up beneath her in the armchair and opened the book on the Naga. Her tune grew louder as she turned pages; she did not notice as her stolid guards ducked out of the room, bowing as they went.

The book was interesting. It told the story of the Naga and their home in India, and the wizard who had created them, a man named Vasuki. He'd created the Naga out of small children, girls, the ones who took vows of the Dark Arts, and they became immortal snakes of their own free will. They hunted until they found a master and fulfilled their purpose as guardians. Judging by that, Nagini was a very happy snake indeed, for her master was the darkest of them all and had plenty of people trying to destroy him. He needed her protection.

Luna was halfway through the book within an hour. She was a faster reader even than Hermione, who had once accused her of merely skimming, but Luna read books in her own peculiar way, too. She did skim, but she also felt, and murmured, and became part of the book for the time that she read it. And on page three hundred and twenty, a heading jumped out at Luna, sure as if it did a little dance on the page.

'How to win a Naga's loyalty,' read the beginning of the paragraph. She peered closely. If a Naga already had a master, the book said, her loyalty could not be gained unless the master were killed. That was self-explanatory. But Luna decided that if Nagini should survive the war without Voldemort, she might take the snake under her wing, for it seemed fair.

The rest of the paragraph was more relevant to Luna's purpose. There were two ways to gain the trust of an already-committed Naga. One was to feed her _amrita_, or the Elixir of Life; Luna had no idea what that was or how to get it. The other way was to learn the true name of the Naga, the creature's original name, from when she was a human child. But Luna did not speak Parseltongue, so she did not know how to ask Nagini what she had been called once upon a time in India.

For a moment Luna's imagination floated across the surface of the earth to land on another continent, an exotic place with a jungle and tigers and beautiful women with many gold bracelets adorning their brown wrists. In her sojourn she saw a river, a holy man in orange robes, a snake… which brought her back to the paragraph she was reading.

A minor detour on the pathway of knowledge.

The trust of Naga was no small matter. It meant that secondary loyalty might pass to Luna, should she get Nagini to like her. She would have a true ally in the house, another female creature to understand the man they had in common. Snape, Nagini, perhaps her two Death Eater guards… Luna wondered if she had friends awaiting her even in the Riddle House. What a thought.

It took the rest of the afternoon for Luna to peruse the clothing that had appeared within the new armoire. It was all in her size, of course, and all suitable for meeting the Dark Lord on his new terms. Classic clothing, of finest construction, tailored to her tall body, and enough lovely jewelry to keep her occupied for awhile. Shoes, too. And because the clothes were not part of Luna's usual repertoire, they helped her gain strength in her rôle. Easier to act the part when you looked it.

The October sun shone hard and cold through the stained-glass window, and knowing the date Luna was able to keep track of the days after that.

It would be another two days before Luna was forced into company with the Dark Lord again. But after her dreadful experience with him after their dinner for two, something unexpected and very unwanted happened in Luna's consciousness. He cropped up in her dreams, doing even more to her than what he'd done that night, and in her dreams she enjoyed it. It was as though someone (no, You-Know-Who) had turned on the tap and Luna felt grounded down to the sensations in a way that was foreign to her. It was horrible, but when she should have dreaded meeting him next, her body hummed with a new kind of curiosity. She knew it was the power of suggestion, the invasion of her thoughts and mind; she knew what he was doing. It did not make it any easier.

And Voldemort was getting what he wanted: the utter betrayal of Luna Lovegood, the turning of her back on the light.

* * *

_October, the Blood Moon

* * *

_

The moon was full when Luna was summoned to Voldemort. She knew this because when Smiley and Yorkie walked with her from her room, the calm white rays flooded through the windows of the house and Luna could glance out to see the English countryside bathed in it. A low fog clung to the ground, floating in backlit tendrils and concealing the true shape of the hills, as though the moon had descended itself to earth in the form of milky vapour. The Dementors were breeding, Luna supposed. On the grounds of the Dark Lord's headquarters they must be in abundance.

To her surprise, Smiley and Yorkie led her outside of the house and into the air for the first time since she'd been captured. For a wild moment Luna thought they'd decided to release her. But when they walked along a path and onto a terraced pavilion set in the back of the house, Luna knew better.

At least thirty Death Eaters stood in three rows of a semi-circle, facing a rough-hewn stone altar. Sickly green witchlights hovered and danced above their heads. This, combined with the fog and moonlight, threw their masks into gruesome relief, a grinning monotony of skulls floating inside dark cloth.

Voldemort, in sweeping black robes, presided over the gathering. He relaxed on a throne-like chair set upon a dais, his white hands dangling off the armrests. His chin was raised so that his eyes looked down his new nose. He had a little smile on his lips that was unattractive. He glanced up and saw Luna flanked by her guards and he raised a finger to beckon her forward.

Luna could not help but shoot a worried look at the stone altar in the middle of the circle. It was just the right size for a person to be laid upon and she did not want that person to be her. But instead Voldemort gestured for her to kneel down on the left side of him, which she did as unobtrusively as possible. His eyes were bright red tonight, bright like the moon, but the wrong colour, of course.

He said a few words to the Death Eaters that went in Luna's right ear and out her left. She shivered as the words passed through her. Phantom intruding thoughts. Yet, reality would not let her forget herself, not tonight. There was too much evil in the air to pretend ignorance of it.

A line of chained people in ragged clothing were brought forward into the circle. Voldemort laughed.

They were Muggles. That much was apparent, for the bound prisoners looked askance at the wands wielded by their captors, puzzlement and terror mingling in a cocktail of emotion that must have smelled sweet to the Dementors hovering above.

The Death Eaters began with a small Muggle boy. One of a family; Luna saw his parents screaming through the gags between their teeth, protesting. At Voldemort's direction, they put the boy on the stone altar. Rites were said. Terrible deeds followed the words. It ended with great splashes of blood staining the stone. Luna had no idea a child's body could contain so much blood. Her cheeks were wet with tears that she could not remember the start of.

'Take the blood of the girls,' said Voldemort. 'It will be a prize for Bella.'

A woman's voice laughed with mad glee in the crowd of Death Eaters and she stepped forward. 'Thank you, my Lord, my Master.' Behind her mask a mane of black hair floated in tangles to identify her as Bellatrix Lestrange.

'It's good for the complexion,' Voldemort whispered to Luna. She could but look at him in horror. Of course, he would not let her look away; he muttered the charm that froze her in place so that she could not avert her eyes from the sight of four Muggle girls of about her age, standing on the stone, growing whiter and whiter as the blood drained from their bodies and into large glass bowls. Their eyes were wide with fear. They, too, stared at death, stared at Voldemort, the utter betrayal of all good things written on their innocent faces.

One by one they dropped, limp. Like the young boy before them, they yielded a great deal of blood, certainly enough to fill a bathtub or two. Luna felt sick as she heard the saved liquid of life sloshing around as the bowls were charmed to float away.

The Dark revel earned its name. The chanting grew heavy and feverish; sacrifices were demanded. Ritual killings were made with an obsidian knife that looked like it came from the Americas. An offering of organs was made to the full moon. For the first time, Luna hated her own name, if this was what was offered to it. She tugged at the hard metal chains around her wrists, to no avail. Many times she wanted to scream at the sights before her eyes but she refused to allow it. The screaming stayed in her head until it was sated. Then it was all white, all calm, and Luna ignored Voldemort's occasional glances over at her.

She would not give him the benefit of seeing her upset and so she stayed chained and awake but somewhere else entirely. It was all a cosmic accident.

She blurted out the thought that intruded on her peace. 'You don't care about torture, do you?' she asked Voldemort.

He looked down at her from his place on the throne and raised his eyebrows.

'It's nothing to you. Mildly entertaining at best. You want the control over other people, over your Death Eaters. You're not like _her_,' Luna glanced at Bellatrix the sadist, grinning and shrieking as she held a Muggle man under the Cruciatus Curse. 'When they do this, they sink deeper into you. They can't escape from what they've done under your orders. So it makes them stay even closer to you.'

Voldemort's lips turned up. 'You're just full of surprises, aren't you.'

'That's why you kept me, isn't it?'

'Lord Voldemort likes to be proven correct.'

When the chanting rose, a hail to the Dark Lord, Luna closed her eyes and waited. She was bound in cold chains yet. She remained so as the revel came to an end, as the Death Eaters staggered off, drunk on the darkness. Voldemort left Luna there. All was still and silent, on the stone terrace, on the grounds, in the house. A light fog whispered to her from above. The fog was filled with Dementor guards.

The immediate space around her was heavy with the tortures so recently inflicted within it. It left a psychic impression on the area, the aftermath of terror and pain hanging like a stagnant stench. Luna did not like being alone amongst it; her imagination threatened to run away from her. But her chains held her fast and she withdrew into herself. Her own mind was a place of light, a haven, something that could not and would not betray her.

When she heard footsteps approach, she thought it was one of her guards come to take her away. After a moment of listening, she decided the gait was too light and tall to be one of her solid Death Eater minders, and that could mean only one thing.

It was the Dark Lord himself returning to the scene of the crime.

'_Finite,_' he murmured from the shadows, releasing her from the chains. He stepped forward into the light, looking so human and yet so monstrous, a walking contradiction. The rays of the moon played over his features, throwing them into relief, and Luna thought it was funny how her namesake the moon could light up even the darkest of nights. The moon saw everything. The torture committed in her name could not be concealed and even the dark moon looked down upon the earth, though her face remained hidden from human view.

It gave Luna comfort. Looking up into the Dark Lord's face, seeing the moonlight illuminate his features, made her feel that somewhere, somehow, there was a witness to what he might do. Perhaps it was God, perhaps it was Lady Justice, or perhaps just nature itself, but Luna was not alone.

She moved her wrists with a bit of pain; the chains had cut into her skin when she writhed at the sight of the anguished forms in front of her during the ritual. It was nice to be free again.

'My Lord,' she dipped her head.

He whispered something she could not hear. Then he said the words that made her blood run cold.

'This ritual has not yet concluded,' he said.

'What?'

'You know nothing about full moon rituals? You know nothing about the power inherent at the height of the moon, especially when it is at this aspect in the constellation of Virgo?'

'No,' said Luna, 'but I did once hear that the constellation was named after the Roman wizard Virgil, millennia ago, who founded a secret society that to this day works to undercut the Italian Ministry of Magic. Their coat-of-arms includes the constellation, although you would never know who the members are because they are identifiable only by their secret handshake, and the toe-rings they wear, but everyone wears shoes so you can't see their toes.'

She knew she babbled. She grasped at the normality of her own voice. As if she could talk him out of whatever he was about to do.

When Voldemort smiled at her transparent attempt, she knew the game was up. Not for the first time, Luna felt swimmingly out of control of herself, as though she'd started playing a game to win and would now be lucky not to strike out at the first test. Where, in her crazy loony mind, had she thought that she might come out of this okay? Where had she vowed to pull one over on this malevolent, brilliant creature in front of her?

'No,' he said in response to her useless information about Virgil the wizard. 'No, that's not it.' While still talking, he took her by the shoulders and guided her toward the bloodstained stone altar. It was dry, but Luna imagined that the small crystals in the rock glistened red with the blood that had spilled upon it. 'I have not gotten to where I am by missing opportunities,' Voldemort continued. 'I am very aware of the ways in which a wizard might augment magical power. Ritual sacrifice is a powerful force, an ancient magic that goes to the roots of what makes us special. The reason for this is that it imposes order on the magical core. It is the same function that a wand serves. But a ritual, conducted at the right time and place and circumstance, can create magic greater than the sum of its participants. This is the power of mind.'

_The power of mind_, thought Luna. _My mind. My body_. And like a faint glimmering in the darkness, she hung onto his words so that wherever he went with this ritual business, she might benefit from it. Her mind was vast, expansive, often outside of herself and tied to those oddities which defined human existence. If Voldemort wanted to tap it, then it would bind him to her, and perhaps this was a good thing for Luna's cause.

'Do you want my mind, then?' Luna asked.

'No,' Voldemort said.

When he whispered a cutting charm so that her clothing split apart and fell away from her, she understood. Sacrifice. Blood. Ritual. The height of the moon's power, power in Virgo, power in the Virgin.

So that's what would happen tonight.

Luna found herself lying flat on her back on the altar stone. It was strangely warm on her skin and she wondered if it had been charmed. The moon was within her vision, shining in cool apathy, upside down and right side up. A full circle. Voldemort stood to one side, facing north, murmuring some kind of charm. Behind him the Riddle House loomed with black windows like sightless eyes. Were the Death Eaters spying on them, watching what was happening? Luna rather hoped not. Like cold pinpricks on her skin she could feel Voldemort's gaze and that was bad enough.

The next moments took on an unreality that could not penetrate to Luna's awareness. She felt like she was floating, a familiar feeling for her, a rolling and gentle wave that crested her above life's dense physical reality. Yet like a soothing charm, Voldemort's honeyed voice rolled across her body, whispering incantations to prepare her as a suitable sacrifice. He would drain her tonight, leave her gasping and cold, take her magic and usurp it for himself.

The incantations worked. Against her own will, aided by several days' worth of odd imaginings concerning Lord Voldemort and her own body, she felt her muscles relax. A deep red spinning heat began to stroke her veins, pooling between her legs, a wanting that she could not name. She closed her eyes. Her fluttering mind protested against it but it too succumbed. Reality narrowed to include only this stone, this moon above her head, the dark figure of Voldemort now moving around to stand at her feet.

She never knew what spell he cast. An Imperturbable Charm of some kind, a concealment perhaps. In any case, the light was no more, and she was awash in darkness. It hung as a Stygian cloud; she could not see her hand in front of her face or the end of her own nose. To the outside world it must look as a great three-dimensional ink stain in space and time wherein unspeakable things happened.

Voldemort's hands moved on her body, cold hands but expert, and she shivered beneath his touch, wanting it and hating it. She could feel but could not see. Her legs were spread apart and she was shocked to know her own anticipation.

Then the darkness hardened, solidified into the shape of a man settling on top of her. She screamed when he entered her, screamed in pain and fear and mortification, but it was as though the stone beneath her urged her on and told her to move her hips, for there was a cadence to the ritual. Her hiccups of fright changed into gasps of something else.

Because it was so dark, she felt outside of herself, ravished by a nameless cloud of black male energy, something that she wanted to turn into a real man. She thought that if she writhed hard enough, it might reveal itself. In those hot rhythmic moments the name of the Dark Lord escaped her entirely. She was not Luna, she was Woman now, archetypal, the impersonality making things easier. All was dark and disembodied. She arched up into it, over and over again, cold and hot and satisfied.

'Here,' said Voldemort, tossing her her thin black cloak when it was over. He left her on the altar, shivering with shame and afterglow.

* * *

**A/N: **Also, for those of you who are interested in this stuff, one of the tortures mentioned tangentially here was inspired by the true story of Elizabeth, the Countess of Bathory, who killed over four hundred girls for their blood. It's a pretty twisted story, and back far enough in history that you don't feel quite so bad about being interested in it… at least I don't. 


	9. Balance of Power

**Author's Notes: **Cheers to those of you who have left reviews – _wildandclear, ravenfeather42, Lrnd, Ava Marie, Witch of Darkness, Sarah Coldheart, selenoliber, _and _Squiggles.Candi_. Many thanks!

As for this next chapter… things stabilise in Luna's world. It's mostly narrative, because much of what happens is taking place in Luna's mind… Dark Lords are busy creatures, and he doesn't really spend _that_ much time with her. I have mixed feelings about this chapter, but transition is necessary. I hope you all enjoy it:-)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Recap from Chapter 8: 

_...the name the Dark Lord escaped her entirely. She was not Luna, she was Woman now, archetypal, the impersonality making things easier. All was dark and disembodied. She arched up into it, over and over again, cold and hot and satisfied._

_'Here,' said Voldemort, tossing her her thin black cloak when it was over. He left her on the altar, shivering with shame and afterglow_.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**Balance of Power**

When Luna was left on the altar, she wrapped the thin cloak about her naked self and fell back, exhausted, blank. She must have passed out. After some amount of time, perhaps an hour judging by the position of the moon, Smiley and Yorkie had appeared and called her name but had not touched her. Perhaps they were under orders not to touch things that belonged to the Dark Lord. Perhaps they found her repulsive. In any case, Luna shuffled back to her own room with its round stained glass wall and had fallen into bed and a dreamless sleep.

It was just yesterday. Luna now went deep into meditation, practised her Occlumency, explored the flights of fancy and bird-like notions that flitted through. She retreated into her memories of Hogwarts, of home, of travel with her father, of the Order of the Phoenix. This last she clung to: she knew that somewhere out there, the Order was fighting the good fight. They would not have given up on her. Luna was a balloon, a black one, floating through room after room of her mental home. Her skin tingled but she didn't notice.

Her imagination took off. It soared like Abacus on a sunny day. She was dark but thin; she was stained. She had tasted death and its personification had penetrated her last night. Now more than ever she felt commonality with her Thestral. The world would despise her for what she was but Luna had to go through the clouds and believe there was blue sky on the other side.

A series of images came to her. In the future of her imagination she was Voldemort's mistress, sleeping in his bed, watching his moods. She learned from him. She observed everything he did, everything he said: once in awhile, he would talk to himself. His guard came down. Luna knew that Voldemort was cool, poised, dignified, utterly in control of himself. He only lost his temper where Harry Potter was concerned. Otherwise the man was a fine-tuned machine of power and desire and ambition. But in her imagination, Luna watched for his weaknesses.

It was not her natural tendency to find weakness in others. She wanted to find their strengths, their good points. With Voldemort, however, she could turn her intensity of perception the other way. She would insinuate herself as a harmless body, a broken spirit, a toy that was his to play with. Voldemort might get careless with his toys. He might say something or do something that gave him away. He might accidentally give Luna the means of delivering him to the Order.

Her body hummed with excitement. This was something she could do. Get close to Voldemort, become his intimate, know his mind. Be ready. A voice echoed in her head: 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.' She did not know to whom the voice belonged. She would keep Voldemort close beside her; in fact, she would make him part of her. She would absorb him and taste him and envelop him with her light.

Light always destroyed the shadows, didn't it?

Her original resolution reasserted itself with full vigour. She could do this. The worst was behind her. The tears behind her eyes suggested otherwise, but she could not pay attention to that. Not right now.

Seeking strength in her appearance, Luna threw open the door of her new wardrobe. She chose a dress made of dark indigo silk with white goring up the skirt, spikes and shards of light. The bodice was corseted and set off her wasp waist to perfection. She put on a necklace of chunky garnets to match, big stones that were so dark red they looked black. Her hair was pulled up into a half-frozen waterfall of blonde. She wore her favorite red high heels, no longer caring that they made her legs look good. Ready for the Dark Lord was she, prepared to take her ideas as far as they would go. He called for her that night as she'd known he would.

For the first time Luna was taken to Voldemort's bedchamber. He was staring out one of the tall windows when she entered; he'd called his usual 'come in' but did not turn to look at her. Luna took the opportunity to glance around the room. She wanted to find something that made it a place of power for her. Her eyes first rested on the bed.

It was a magnificent medieval edifice, Voldemort's bed. It looked like it belonged to a king, with its ornate carved back and top canopy with a gathered radius of black velvet. Strangely, the bedcovers were white and silvery and of a fine brocade. Luna would not have expected that Voldemort would choose white, but the man was full of surprises. If he hadn't been so evil Luna might have enjoyed the task ahead of her of learning his secrets.

In the heavy seconds before the Dark Lord spoke to her, Luna made a cursory inventory of the rest of the room. Large Chinese mahogany armoire. Bookcases, three of them, presumably filled with favourites. Persian carpet of finest quality and colourful, too. Twin wingback armchairs flanking a wide fireplace of black marble. Several standing candlestick holders with seven flames apiece and dripping wax to create fantastic, alien sculptures.

Luna was aflutter when it crossed her mind that Voldemort's room was rather to her own tastes.

The creature himself then spoke. 'Sit down,' he said.

She made for one of the armchairs.

'On the bed,' he interrupted her movement without turning.

_He's not wasting time tonight_, Luna thought. She obeyed and crossed her legs, flung her arms back, and waited as he turned around to regard her.

Voldemort was pale tonight, yet his appearance spoke of humanity. In the smooth expanse of white skin on his face, a high flush appeared on the cheekbones as a mockery of true feeling. She wondered if he was angry about something. His black shining hair was thrown back from his forehead. If it were not for the terrible warp of his nose and brow, he would have been a dish, Luna decided. She held the thought. It would take her far. If she closed her eyes just a little – there – she could imagine he looked different to her.

The half-closed eyelids were a look of lust in most parts of the world. Luna wondered if this was because most people imagined themselves with perfect lovers, rather than the imperfect partners they were stuck with. A laugh bubbled up from within her. 'I'm ready if you are,' she said, unable to hide the amusement.

There was silence from Voldemort. She expected him to speak but when he did not, her eyes came open again so she might see what ailed him. He stood in front of her, not too close, his head tilted as he regarded her. Serpentine curiosity flickered across his face, the kind of curiosity reserved for the snake whose prey is acting in a baffling fashion. The little mouse doing a little jig, perhaps, or a bird trying to swim.

When Voldemort spoke, his voice was quiet, smooth, cold, though somehow charming. 'You turn so easily,' he said. 'None of the stubbornness of your fellows. How refreshing.'

'What makes you think I've turned?' Luna asked. 'Maybe you're a bit of sport for me.' It was ludicrous to suggest it, but that was the point. She had to, _had to_, keep Voldemort intrigued by her.

Her words incited the reaction she wanted. A flash of anger, annoyance at her impudence perhaps, but entertainment flashed in the red eyes, too. So Voldemort liked to play games; that was not surprising. 'Do not try to provoke me,' he said.

Luna gulped. It was exactly what she had been trying to do. That small ever-present dart of fear that pinched her heart grew more painful still. It made it difficult to breathe, or to focus on anything at all. Drowning in his presence, she was. 'I'm sorry, My Lord,' she whispered.

Voldemort leaned toward her. 'I think,' he said softly, 'I will kill you in the morning. You've outlived your usefulness.'

He was dead serious about it, she could tell. Through quivering eyelashes she met his gaze. 'That would be a mistake, sir.'

'Oh? How so?'

'Because I am your servant. Surely you do not kill servants just on a whim. There must be a reason to kill me, rather than a reason to keep me alive.'

Voldemort laughed with that high, cold laugh. 'A twisted logic, to be sure. You assume that it is less effort to keep you than to kill you.'

'Isn't it?'

'For now,' he said, and he reached out to grasp her shoulders, yanked her up to her feet, murmured a charm. Luna got that dizzying sensation again that she was way out of her league, that she was stupid to try to control the situation. She felt tugged in a million directions and strung out.

He hurt her again, of course. The idea of Voldemort as a gentle lover was daft. He bruised her and knocked her around and forced her to do things that made her cheeks burn in shame. But it was not all pain that second night. Luna wondered how the already-tenuous reality of her own body could distinguish between pleasure and pain anymore…Yet she could.

It went late into the night and then Luna slept, exhausted, with sheets tangled around her waist. He allowed her to sleep in his sacred chambers and she was not sure why. She would not complain about it, however. When she awoke it was past nine in the morning, judging by the light, and Luna sat up, blinking her eyes. She was amazed that she was still alive. Perhaps Voldemort was a better actor than she knew; perhaps he'd only been taunting her with threats of death.

The Dark Lord was not to be found in the room, thank Merlin. There was only so much of his company she could take and still keep up her façade. She stretched her arms and felt soreness everywhere. The imprints of his hands were all over her skin. And Luna felt cold inside, as though his inhumanity was contagious, and he'd poured it into her and soon she would look like Nagini.

Her white and indigo dress from the night before lay in a dreary puddle on the floor. She leaned over the bed and brought it up to cover her. This meant she would have to do the walk of shame with Smiley and Yorkie, probably. How dreadful. Sighing, she stood up, naked flesh with goose-bumps against the cool morning air.

'Missus needs clothes!' squeaked a voice, and a small dark shape jumped out from the shadows.

Luna let out a little shriek of alarm. Instinctively she held the dress up to shield herself from the eyes of whatever this new thing was; she relaxed when she saw it was just a house-elf. 'Oh,' she said. 'Who are you?'

'My names is Birdy,' said the elf. It bowed in a sad gesture of humility.

Luna felt sorry for the elf. It worked for an infernal household and that must be hard on it; the creature looked bedraggled and overworked. The simple cloth rag it wore was dark, not quite black, and tattered. Its ears drooped and it looked thin, even for a house-elf. Her stomach felt a pang of disgust at the thought that she'd been eating food prepared for her by such poor things as Birdy the elf.

'I'm Luna,' she said. 'Were you sent here by Vol—by the Dark Lord?'

'I's told to come when you is awake,' said Birdy with a curtsey. Must be a female elf, then. 'To bring you some clothes to wear and break-the-fast.'

'Oh,' said Luna. Her stomach gave another pang, this time of genuine hunger, and she tried to silence it in her guilt of taking food from this sad house-elf. But she was not Hermione Granger with her house-elf liberation ideas; Luna did not know what else to do so she treated the creature on its own terms. Elves wanted to serve, so she would just have to let Birdy do her job and be courteous to her.

So when Birdy conjured up a simple dark dress for Luna to wear on her walk back to her room/cell, she was grateful. Smiley and Yorkie were waiting for her when she emerged from Voldemort's chamber and Birdy followed a few feet behind. Luna was surprised to find more items inside her room: there was a nice little wooden screen, behind which was a water-closet, a clawfoot bathtub, and her washbasin. A floor-length mirror stood off to the side, as well. The round room was spacious before but now it started to look full.

Birdy did even more for Luna after the Death Eater guards left them: the elf drew some hot water for a bath and left out a towel. As Luna stepped gratefully into the steaming water, relishing the idea of burning off Voldemort's touch and essence, she chattered to herself and to Birdy. For some floating cloud reason, Luna wanted to make friends with the elf. If she was of a more practical bent, she might have remembered that it paid to be friends with house-elves, based on all of Harry's stories about Dobby. But Luna did things just because she did them.

In return the elf was overwhelming in her deprecation to Luna. In the days after their first introduction, Luna learned that Birdy had been assigned to attend to Luna's health and toilette and apparel. One by one, Luna thought, the creatures would come to her.

* * *

_November, the Tree Moon

* * *

_

By the time the next full moon ascended in cold night glory, Luna was allowed views out the windows; one of the larger pieces of glass in her round rose cathedral window was charmed to transparency so she could press her face up against it and look out. The view was bleak and dark but at least it was something. The fog was permanent around Voldemort's home, fog full of Dementors old and young, guarding the premises. The weeks had whittled away at Luna's defiance of her situation; horror was beginning to feel like habit. Her acceptance gave way to apathy and to not care was to be left unaffected. Strength had many definitions.

From Luna's side of the building she could see a graveyard with a forest of headstones growing from the slight roll of a hill. A large yew tree loomed there with branches splayed and twisted to disappear into the fog. Luna knew it must be the graveyard that Harry Potter had described after his first duel with Voldemort (Luna had been only thirteen! How long ago it was). It made her feel better to think that one of her friends had seen that very yew tree, silvery in the moonlight, sentinel of the restless dead.

Voldemort did not call for Luna every night. It was more like every three or four nights, though these held no particular pattern in time. It was done, like everything else with the Dark Lord, on his whimsy. Every time she met him he threatened to kill her.

'If you do not perform well,' he would say, 'you will be dead in the morning.'

'Then you will be missing out on the future,' she would reply. 'I'm still holding back from you.'

It became a game like that. Luna began to realise that Voldemort relished not the killing itself, but the wielding of his power over her. He liked to have absolute control over whether she lived or died, whether she suffered or laughed. What he did not know was that the source of true happiness came from within. It was a tiny flame that she kept sheltered through the torturous hours with him. It became the source of her intrigue; she knew that Voldemort sensed the inner light within her and like a destructive, malefic little boy, he wanted to snuff it out. Not by killing her, but by breaking her.

'Little Luna Lovegood,' he whispered one night into her cold ear. 'You have become my puzzle. A relief for my mind.'

Some men liked to do crossword puzzles, or read mystery novels, or play with Chinese trick-boxes, or take apart machines. Voldemort liked to unravel people, string by string. Luna was the Gordian knot.

Conversely, she learned things from him and about him. He muttered to himself a lot, as crazy people under stress are prone to do, and Luna had listening ears. She gathered that Voldemort was unhappy with the general competence level of his Death Eaters; only Snape and a few others he seemed to hold in any kind of regard.

There were other, smaller things that Luna picked up. The Dark Lord had a habit of clenching and unclenching his left fist when he was worried, upset, or reigning in his temper. He was clever and cunning, of course, his mind ever-sharp and he was like Luna in that he missed nothing in his observations. He was an astute judge of human nature; his focus was, naturally, on using his acuity to find weaknesses and exploit them. He was merciless and Luna had yet to see Voldemort do anything for a reason other than manipulation.

Yet there were other things, too. Voldemort had a sense of humour. Luna might have guessed this from her first meeting with him: he wanted to be entertained by her, that was why he'd let her live. That meant a capability of amusement. But as she spent more time with him, more nights, she learned about him. Voldemort took a keen delight in not only identifying the essential character traits of those around him, but mocking them as well. If he was in a talkative mood, the stories he told about his Death Eaters could be downright hilarious and have even Luna breaking into unwitting laughter. He appreciated the ridiculous. He took himself very seriously, and his own self was a subject that could not be mocked, but all else was fair game.

Luna, whose perceptions ran beyond appearances, sometimes thought she caught a glimpse of what she called the 'real' Voldemort: a man who was brilliant, ambitious, and scared to death. Scared _of_ death.

These were mere hunches on her part, intuitions guided by dreams and vague energetic senses when he was off-guard. But it was enough to give her hope that somewhere, Voldemort had an Achilles heel, a break in his monster ego, and she might exploit it and widen it and give the Dark Lord over, trussed up like a holiday bird for Harry Potter and the Order. Fantasies. But Luna wondered if Fate had not set up her current situation for her so that she might learn that life was not all ideas. Sometimes you had to take an idea, an intuition, and make it tangible. Reality was not Luna Lovegood's strong point, but she was learning. She learned it from Voldemort himself, ultimate realist that he was.

When she lost confidence in herself or got distracted, she imagined the look she wanted to see on Voldemort's white face when she betrayed him. Then she locked away her imaginings so that Voldemort would not find them as a Legilimens. He did not pry deeply into her mind as he did during her first interrogation. Luna had been a prisoner for months and thus had nothing she was trying to hide. She also never lied to Voldemort. If he asked her a question, she answered in her forthright manner, never giving him a reason to think her suspicious.

Like all evil megalomaniacs, Voldemort was susceptible to falling complacent, basking in his own dominance. She let him.

Because of Luna's non-threatening behaviour over the weeks, she was allowed little privileges. She had Birdy, who attended to Luna as her permanent house-elf and cleaned the room. She had ample reading material, much of it on the Dark Arts; Voldemort probably wanted it to seep into her mind and corrupt her. That was how much he knew. With most of the Dark Arts books, Luna read them backwards looking for the 'uber-text' that her father said was in most books. You had to count every fifth letter, or every seventh, or whatever the author chose, and then there were hidden messages. Luna knew it was the case with the Daily Prophet, so she tried the theory on the books Voldemort gave her to read. So far she'd discovered that 'Mother Maid hype on lotus King.' That was from 'Vampirism through the Ages.' When he gave her a book on demons, with a special section on something called a succubus, a female sex-demon, Luna wondered if he was trying to tell her something.

Some days she was allowed to dine with her ex-professor Snape on days when neither were called by Voldemort. It was one of these days in late November that found Luna sitting across from Snape in the big dining-room. The great shining wood table held about twenty people but it was set for just three tonight, although Voldemort did not show up. His place at the head of the table loomed empty; Snape was seated on the right of it and Luna on the left. They ate in silence until Luna mentioned that wizarding Christmas crackers actually contained prophecies put out by the Ministry of Magic.

Snape sighed at her. 'No, Miss Lovegood, they don't. That's ridiculous.'

'My father discovered the conspiracy,' Luna said. 'They use old prophecies, ones that can be taken off the shelf because the subjects have died, and put them in the crackers. That's because history always repeats itself.'

Snape twisted his mouth but did not contradict her further. Instead he took some of his wine, a rather large gulp, and swallowed it. 'How are you?' he asked.

'I like this fish,' Luna said, spearing a piece of perfect flaky white meat with her fork. 'It's good.'

'I don't mean the fish. How are you?' Snape raised his eyebrows and glowered at her. Luna felt like she was a student again and had answered a question incorrectly.

'Oh,' she said. 'I'm all right, I suppose.'

'I have no right to ask, but – you have a certain look. I recognize it. He's not making you entertain him by playing board games all evening, is he.' Snape said it as a statement, not a question.

Luna shook her head. She was a little surprised that Snape did not already know about her role, but she'd only begun contact with the shifty former Potions Master a few weeks ago. Prior to that she had not seen him since their Occlumency lessons; she wondered if he had been off on some errand or mission for Voldemort. It was too awkward, talking about this with Snape, but her heart did yearn for a confidante. 'No,' she settled for saying. 'No, it is not that kind of thing.'

'I'm sorry,' Snape said quickly, then masked it by wiping his mouth with a napkin. 'He is becoming more human, of course.'

'I know,' said Luna, and oh, did she know. Voldemort was more of a man than he'd been in years. She had the bruises in some out-of-the-way places to prove it.

'He will not be joining us for dinner this evening,' Snape said. 'Something has come up.'

Luna waited, hoping Snape would elaborate. When he did not, she asked him. 'Do you know where he is?' A tone was hidden in her voice at the query, a tone she did not like, a tone that was almost concern.

Lowering his eyes to his fine black brocade napkin, discarded off to the side of his finished plate, Snape sighed again. He looked old beyond his thirty-something years. 'The Order of the Phoenix,' he said in a quiet voice. 'The Dark Lord has set a trap for them.'

Luna's eyes fluttered wide. A battle, raging in places unknown, and the outcome could change her life one way or the other. She closed her restless eyelids. If only she had the Sight! For the first time in months she yearned for a duel, to take a stand, to shoot curses from her wand. And she had learned some wicked new curses in her time within the Dark Lord's custody that would knock the socks off the Death Eaters if they were turned against them. Luna knew she could do it. Even Hermione would be surprised.

But, no good. Luna could not fight for the Order from here. Her wand was Merlin-knew where, and then another feeling invaded her heart, a perverse wish that she might see Voldemort again. If Harry Potter killed him this time, then she would be – inner disgust rose up like a thick dense blob of gelatin – she would be lost. Her self-appointed task of seducing Voldemort into complacency and then betraying him would be made impossible. All of Luna's sacrifices and mental training would have been for naught. A deep, twisted part of her _wanted_ Voldemort to win this battle of his, to justify everything she had done. If he was that dangerous, then Luna could rest well knowing that she'd had no choice in letting him use her as he did.

If Voldemort was defeated this time around, Luna would be left standing and haunted and forever unredeemed. The vicious wish for his victory rose up in full force as a foil to her other desire to fight for the Order. It was an unpleasant and unfamiliar inner conflict that was like two great weather fronts colliding inside Luna's airy head. Well, at least she was with Snape, who must be even more conflicted.

Two peas in a pod, they were, sitting at the Dark Lord's table in the absence of their master.

Following the main course of fish, a salad appeared, but neither Snape nor Luna was hungry anymore. They sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts, but both skirted around the main subject, Voldemort, in spite of themselves. Voldemort was a black hole, attracting all things to him, unable to be avoided. His pull over the minds he touched was inexorable and energetic.

Then Luna could not hold it in anymore. 'Who do you want to win the battle?' she asked. 'Are we bugged?'

'What?' Snape said, confused by her double-barrelled question.

'Sorry. Are we being listened to? Does he spy on his own house?'

'Not in this room, as far as I am aware,' Snape replied. 'He's grown complacent about his home territory.'

'Yes…' Luna said. 'He has.' She licked her lips. 'So who do you want to win the battle?'

'Is there a question about it?' Snape said. His black eyebrows knitted together as he gazed at her. His eyes, blacker than his hair, looked puzzled still. 'I do not risk my life for nothing. Why, Miss Lovegood? Do _you_ have mixed feelings about the outcome of this battle?'

'Of course not,' Luna said, automatically guarding her mind against Snape's potential intrusion, seeking the truth of her response. Yet Snape was the only one she could talk to about mixed loyalties, the one who had been there himself. The one who walked the fine line of trust. 'It's just – sometimes I – I can't imagine life without Voldemort anymore. If something happened to him I would be glad, but it would be disorientating. I'd feel all adrift.'

A shadow passed over Snape's face. 'I know,' he said. Luna was shocked at the gentle understanding in his tone. It was the last thing she expected from her acerbic professor-Death Eater-spy. 'He affects us all.'

Luna nodded, feeling that she was understood by Snape on some level.

Snape surprised her further by standing abruptly from the table and excusing himself. 'I don't like to sit around waiting,' he muttered. 'Good luck, Miss Lovegood.'

She barely had time to echo her thanks before Snape swept out of the room, leaving Luna alone in cold grandeur, wondering what would become of her lord and master.


	10. Indispensable

**Author's Notes: **Thank you, reviewers: _wildandclear, Barranca, Voldiesgirl999, Libeku Taganashi, potterlovegood, asee, The Enchanted Teakettle, Witch of Darkness, sly-serpentine, LemoN-X-DroP, SarahColdheart, Lrndng,_ _Wandz,_ _Squiggles.Candi_, and _SlythsRule. _You're all wonderful!

In this chapter we learn a little more about Luna's true feelings for the Dark Lord (and she learns, too). I've explored Luna's use of her imagination as a coping mechanism against the acts she's forced to perform; it gets R-rated again later on, so there's the warning. This is the last chapter where I will write about their 'physical' relationship for a while.

Also, one of you sharp readers brought up the issue of pregnancy… indeed something to consider… that issue is addressed in this chapter… because (soon enough, anyway) Voldemort is perfectly, humanly capable of it.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Recap from Chapter 9: 

_He affects us all.'_

_Luna nodded, feeling that she was understood by Snape on some level._

_Snape surprised her further by standing abruptly from the table and excusing himself. 'I don't like to sit around waiting,' he muttered. 'Good luck, Miss Lovegood.'_

_She barely had time to echo her thanks before Snape swept out of the room, leaving Luna alone in cold grandeur, wondering what would become of her lord and master.

* * *

_

**Chapter Ten**

**Indispensable**

After Snape told her about the battle raging somewhere between the Order and the Death Eaters, Luna did not hear word for several days. Even Nagini seemed on edge. The snake lolled about the house, following random house-elves with a glint of maybe-hunger in her cold eyes. Luna asked Smiley and Yorkie, left behind and out of the action, to bring Nagini to her room; she thought that Voldemort's 'ladies' might comfort each other.

It helped Luna, too, to have a creature to care after. As a way of subverting Voldemort, she took it upon herself to make friends with Nagini. She spoke to the great serpent the few words in Hindi she knew, and from the book on the Naga she learned other greetings and tried to imitate Parseltongue – impossible, but it made Nagini hiss in that peculiar way which meant she was laughing.

In the afternoon on a Wednesday, Nagini's head reared up and she hissed madly, swaying back and forth as though keening. The snake slid off of her coiled spot on Luna's bed and made for the door; it was then that Luna understood.

Lord Voldemort was returned.

Luna pounded on the door and when Yorkie appeared, she nodded down at Nagini. 'She wants out.'

'Right,' said Yorkie. His face bobbed behind his Death Eater mask. Not for the first time Luna wondered what her guards really looked like. Now was not the time, however; she had to get herself ready in case Voldemort summoned her immediately. If he'd won his battle, he might want to celebrate. It was a nasty jolt to discover herself hurt when Voldemort did not call for her right away. She was upset because she was anxious to find out what had happened in the latest confrontation. Snape did not come to see her, either, and Luna was left with the dubious company of Birdy the elf, who was sworn to secrecy about the house's gossip. Birdy did not, could not tell her anything beyond that Voldemort was back in residence along with a large company of Death Eaters. The house had been full of noises, but whether they were celebratory or not, she couldn't tell.

In lieu of real knowledge, Luna undertook her nightly Seer Stretches with greater vigour and tried to dream the outcome of the battle. It took the edge off her isolation. However, the images she dreamt of were not victory or defeat, but of an underground tomb.

The tomb had cobwebs in the corners, defended by more than one huge, menacing Acromantula. It took a powerful wizard, or Hagrid, to win the Acromantula's loyalty. The tomb was a maze-like, spiralling network of passageways and tunnels, confusing and chaotic, but at the centre the passages opened up into a big circular room. The place reminded Luna of the stories of the Bull of Knossos and the maze where he was housed on the island of Crete.

In her dreams she emerged from one of the tunnels, a different one every time.

…_Standing tall in the middle of the round room was Voldemort. He wore his customary black robes but he looked fully human, handsome and powerful and terrified. Nagini was at his feet, bloodied and split down her seams, and at this Luna cried out, four nights in a row. Voldemort was waiting for something and did not see Luna. _

_The way it happened was always the same. They came not from above or the sides but below: great cracks of green light appeared in the floor, like Floo fireworks except a million times brighter. Figures rose up, all wearing red, all familiar faces to Luna but in the dream she was scared of them. Harry Potter was there, as were Ginny, Hermione, McGonagall, Neville… Ron Weasley was strangely absent. There was little time to reflect on it, for Luna got the gist: the Order of the Phoenix had hunted down Voldemort. _

_There was a great battle, a duel, and at the end of it Harry struck down Voldemort not with an Avada Kedavra, but with a Dementor. The Dementor did not look like others of its kind, for it did not wear black. It wore red, just like the Aurors and the Order, and this made it more terrible somehow, as though it wore a cloak of blood. The thing seemed attached to Harry and followed his orders; Harry held down Voldemort with a binding spell as it did its work._

_The Dementor leaned in on Voldemort's stark white face and the Dark Lord was fully conscious and screaming as the creature sucked out a tiny white glowing bead and gobbled it up, leaving Voldemort a soulless vegetable. The red Dementor feasted and then turned its head to look straight at Luna…_

It was at this point, when the ghastly thing started to hover across the floor towards her, that she woke up. Four nights in a row.

After her sleepless half of a week, Luna got the summons she'd been waiting for. A note, deposited by Birdy, the first Luna had ever received from Voldemort. It said in a neat copperplate hand: _Tonight. 9 pm_. What a number it was, three times three; nine always had a feminine feel to Luna. She did not know why. The note was accompanied with Luna's customary morning glass of pumpkin juice and a croissant. 'Drink up, miss, please,' insisted Birdy, when Luna pushed away the food.

'I can't eat when I have to meet him tonight,' Luna muttered. It was true; she'd lost her appetite.

'But you musts!' Birdy squeaked. 'The juice. Drink the juice.'

'Why?' asked Luna, suddenly suspicious. It occurred to her that the house-elf had been insistent on Luna's morning pumpkin juice since the very first morning that… _Oh_. She picked up the glass and sniffed it. The taste was quite normal but the tell-tale scent of mugwort was just discernable above the fruit… she'd been drinking juice laced with contraceptive potion.

Luna downed the glass and the juice slid down her throat. Birdy clapped with glee. 'Just as well,' Luna said with a shrug of her shoulders. Truly, the idea of bearing the Dark Lord's spawn was too horrific to contemplate.

She readied herself mentally more than physically for Voldemort's company. She had changed these months, she knew. Her body had filled out a bit from her early days of captivity, but not by much. Her mind was stronger and more focused, more able to defend itself. She had followed Snape's advice and allowed her flights of fancy to take their wings and distract Voldemort from anything important. Yet, she felt loose and floating adrift in the dark of ignorance; her world was occupied by nothing but Voldemort and his dread headquarters. He was the only solid thing in her haze of darkness, and she was a captive in every way, a slave to his whim. It was like trying to cage a bird.

Luna had one thing to keep her going and that was her firm resolve to stick to her plan. The problem was that she was no longer sure who was affecting whom: herself or Voldemort.

* * *

That night she dressed in something she knew he'd liked once before: a deep grey dress of silk with tiny silver threads sewn in a pattern along the sleeves and hem. She wore her hair loose and long. She glided along the corridors with Smiley and Yorkie like the actress she was. It was so easy for Luna to pretend, but she could not hold in her blunt comment to Smiley: he had to stop smoking cigars. She could smell it on his robes and she did not think it was healthy; in fact, her father said it was a Ministry conspiracy, for the smoke addled the mind into accepting authority. Smiley snorted disbelief and then started to cough. 

The levity was interrupted with the knock on the towering door of Voldemort's private quarters. He bade her enter and she stepped across the threshold. The room was filled with something like static electricity: a crackling nervous energy that invaded Luna's senses and made her think that something was wrong. Voldemort stood in front of the hearth. His hand rested on the shining black marble mantelpiece and he leaned into it, staring at the glowing green-orange flames.

'My Lord?' Luna said, dipping her head but keeping her eyes on him.

Voldemort turned and Luna gasped. His eyes burned like crimson coals surrounded by black. There was something so fervent about him, a note of panic or triumph or some indefinable thing. 'Ah,' he said. 'My little pet.'

'What's the matter?' she blurted. 'What happened in the battle?'

Voldemort's eyes flared up as though someone had stoked the flame that burned inside them. 'Who told you there was a battle?'

Luna shrugged. 'I had a dream about it.' It was true; she had at least tried to dream about it.

'Huh,' said Voldemort. He turned back to the fire. 'It was a stalemate, as usual.'

'Oh,' said Luna, disappointed without knowing why.

'Although,' he mused, the triumph now tangible in his voice, giving it a pitch of hysteria, 'Potter suffered a great loss.'

A rapid-fire sequence of names ran through Luna's head: who could it be? Neville? Ginny? Hagrid? Or, heaven forbid for Harry, one his two best friends –

'Ron Weasley nobly sacrificed himself for his dearest friend,' Voldemort gloated. 'Threw himself in front of Bella's wand to allow Potter to go after me. Of course, Potter didn't succeed; the idiot was too _moved_ by his friend's death to be of much use. He retreated, dragging Weasley's body after him.'

Luna gripped the ebony bedpost with tight fingers to hold her nausea at bay. Poor Ron. Of course, Voldemort could be lying to her, but she doubted it. It sounded too real and he loved to brag… and now she remembered that Ron Weasley had been absent from her dreams about the Order these past days. Now Harry was without a best friend; Hermione was without a lover; Ginny was without a brother.

'Troubled, are you?' Voldemort whirled to face her. 'Kneel down. Bow before this _thing_ that has caused the death of your pathetic red-haired friend.'

Luna bowed before him, but she also said, 'Ronald and I weren't really friends. More like acquaintances, or co-workers.'

'Shut up,' Voldemort hissed. 'Both blood traitors and therefore two of a kind.'

'You would share your bed with a blood traitor?' Luna asked. She could tell the usual repartee of abuse and baiting and game-playing was about to begin.

'I share nothing with you,' he said, gripping the top of her head with his magic, hand extended inches away from her. 'I take from you.'

With Luna's head bowed, Voldemort was unable to see her smile. She wondered what to do next and settled for fear. She allowed her shoulders to shudder a bit.

He drew her up with wandless magic, showing off his power, and she rose up without flexing a muscle until she stood straight. At her lower angle his face could look caring as he stared down at her. Bat the eyelashes a few times, dash away the tears, there we go. 'Please,' she murmured.

'Please what?' he said. 'Yes or no?'

Luna's play-acting broke for a split second until she could muster up the right answer. 'N-no,' she stammered.

She was on the bed, flat on her back. His hands were beneath her dress and the power contained within him thrummed through his skin and into hers. He had no patience tonight; the tension and anxiety she'd detected was finding expression. Her dress came off button by button and she played her part well. It was to the point where it almost did not feel like acting anymore.

'That hurts,' she gasped when he gripped her arms and pinned them above her head.

'Good,' he hissed back.

He was insinuated between her thighs, using his knee to push her legs apart, bare skin now but it was not intimate. She was his object, nothing more. Voldemort used Luna because she was a captive, because she had a mind of her own, because she was one of the enemy. For all his indiscrimination in murder, Luna had learned that Voldemort was actually a very private person, and would not take woman after woman to sate his new-human needs. One would do, well-worn and well-dressed, one who entertained him in the off moments.

He was inside her now, easier than he should have gone for an unwilling subject, a fact which did not escape the notice of either of them. Luna could fake it only so far. Her hips moved to meet him of their own accord and she let her body take over. She writhed beneath him as though trying to escape. At the same time her mind floated off into space and kept her eyes squeezed shut so that he would not know it. Luna was in two places at once. One Luna was a body joined with the Dark Lord, his mistress and slave, used and then being cast aside when it was over.

The other Luna was walking through a golden forest like that one in Sweden during the summer. The wind brushed against her face and she ran her fingers along the tree trunks, feeling the hum of their slow, stately life. Her eyes followed a big bug flying past her and she laughed and broke into a run. She sang aloud a nursery rhyme that made her laugh harder.

She did not laugh aloud as Voldemort was cold and hard and merciless and she served as his sheath.

Waves of heat built, deep in her core, uncoiling into white pleasure, bringing her attention back to the moment. She could not help it. At least she had the presence of mind, at the last moment before she shuddered, to make a sob sounding of terror, so that Voldemort might think it a spasm of pain or fear. Whether she fooled him she did not know, but even if he knew the truth of her reaction, it would goad him on. He would know that it was in spite of herself; that she loathed herself for it. It would 'entertain' him.

He proved his humanity once again as he finished with her, hot seed filling its place, and he withdrew. Luna could never look at him at this part of their encounters. She kept her eyes closed and relished her separateness again. The bedcovers shifted as Voldemort slid off her to the side. He kept a possessive hand on her hip. Luna still did not open her eyes. She expected him to steal the covers and rest, lying flat on his back as was his custom, but he did not.

He kissed her. 'Good girl,' he whispered praise into her ear. 'You've done well.'

The pressure of his lips on hers was slight and gentle. Startled, unsure if it was real, Luna's eyelids fluttered open to confirm that it was indeed happening. It was a tiny kiss but perfect. She could have cried at that moment. Then Voldemort turned away and rested in his cool serpentine way as though he'd done nothing out of the ordinary.

He was going to kill her in the morning.

Luna knew in that moment, sure as sugar, that Voldemort's kiss was her cue that she was about to walk off-stage. It was her death knell. It was her banshee cry. He was done with her. Perhaps she had pushed him too far… or perhaps he was just bored with her brand of fear. Luna did not know how else to do it. She was fresh out of ideas.

A mild form of terror coursed through her defiled body. Luna remained stock-still for the remainder of the night, sleeping some of the time and awake for the other minutes and hours. She could hear his light, even breathing next to her. There was nothing unguarded about his face; it was not the sleep of a normal being. On some level, Luna knew that Voldemort never truly rested, never let himself go into the uncontrolled depths of dreams. She got drowsy just looking at him…

-- _Nagini's blood made a plinking sound on the marble floor as it drained out of her shattered husk of a body, drip by drip, and the green light was coming – ah, there it was, Harry Potter shouting and manic, bloodlust written in his energy field. _

_The red Dementor shrieked, zoomed in on Voldemort, sucking and sucking, red vampire bringing red non-death. It finished its grisly business and made a smacking sound with its lips, dripping with soul. It turned to Luna and floated across the floor towards her. 'Traitor,' it seemed to whisper to her. 'Traitor,' the other members of the Order of the Phoenix chanted in low murmurs. 'Luna Lovegood is a traitor.' The Dementor descended upon her and started to suck. She screamed_ --

'Luna. Wake up. Luna!' A slap across her face and she fell awake with a last cry. It was not a Dementor's face hovering above her but that of Lord Voldemort. Luna sank back onto the pillows with a sigh of relief. She'd never imagined she would be glad to see the Dark Lord's countenance a mere foot away from her when she awoke, but at least he was familiar. And alive.

'What was that?' Voldemort asked. He sounded annoyed to have been disturbed, but simultaneously pleased that she had succumbed to a nameless night terror. She let his dual tone penetrate her consciousness, again in its familiarity, wondering if she was crazy at last.

'I – um – it was a bad dream,' Luna said.

'I gathered,' Voldemort said wryly. 'If you're going to disturb me, you must go now.'

Luna did not want to be alone. And she did not want to be killed now either; she wanted to wait until she could see the sunrise. Would she be wrong to tell him about the contents of this recurring dream of hers? Before she could make an analysis, her mouth was open and she was talking. 'I've been having the same dream over and over,' she said. 'It's about you.'

She described Nagini and the snake's mortal wounds; she told him about what happened with the Order of the Phoenix and the red Dementor that stole his soul from him. But it was when Luna described the _place_, the Acromantulas, the maze of a tomb and the central marble room, that Voldemort gave a little twitch as though startled.

'Describe it,' he demanded. 'The tomb.'

Luna did, to the best of her observant abilities. Unlike most dreams, these had been detailed, as though it were a real place. She could remember individual stones and the pattern on the marble floor. Based on the look on Voldemort's face, it _was_ an actual place, and one important to him. His lair, perhaps? A hideout? In any case, it looked to be the site of his last stand.

Voldemort, now sitting upright in bed, let his shoulders relax a little. 'It cannot be,' he muttered. 'Impossible. But how would she – I'm alone in the dreams, you said?'

Luna nodded. 'Well, alone except for me.'

He said nothing to that. His left hand reached his temple and he brought a knee up on which to rest his elbow; with the white sheets draped across, he looked like a statue of marble, an ancient Greek monument to deep thought. Luna stared at him. For all his evil there was something so magnificent about Voldemort. He was a piece of moulded darkness, spare and ascetic and utterly, ruthlessly efficient about himself. The half moonlight streamed in through a window to give a silver outline on white skin.

While she waited for him to say something, she wondered if he had ever cared for anyone at all. And, in Luna's mind the most important question, was there any part of him that was still good? She thought there must be, because her theory about evil was that it never ran deep to the core. It was a response, something learned or taught, something like an error in thinking that needed correction. For a moment, as she stared at this terrifying white creature who had abused her so thoroughly, Luna felt a wave of compassion rise up to engulf her in bright calm. The poor man, really. So scared must he be.

Voldemort's eyes flared in the darkness, glowing crimson, and when he turned to regard her she did not see fear anymore. 'You've had this same dream for how long?'

'Five nights in a row, my Lord.'

'Mmm.' Voldemort nodded. 'The place you describe is located in Wiltshire. Near Malfoy Manor. I was going to use it… but now I think not. You've been a great help, and Lord Voldemort always rewards those who are helpful.'

Luna was confused. So she'd dreamt a real place – but this thing had not happened yet. Did that mean that she, Luna Lovegood, was a prophetess? Like Professor Trelawney? _No, maybe not Trelawney,_ she thought. _That woman was not so much a prophet as a poser._ 'Must be the Seer Stretches,' she mused aloud.

'Sorry?' Voldemort was about to say something else but was ever puzzled by Luna's outbursts.

'Oh, something I learned,' Luna said. 'I do stretches before bed. They were invented by Lazarus Temple and they make you have prophetic dreams. It's not the first time it's happened.'

'The Sight,' Voldemort whispered. She could hear his capitalisation of the 'S.' He continued, 'I have a new job for you, Luna Lovegood. You will tell me the future as you dream it. You will be my Seer.' He tilted his head at her as though this was a title to be proud of: Dark Lord's Seer.

'Oh,' Luna said weakly. She should have known better than to mention anything. Now she might have ruined something for the Order. _Well done, big-mouth_, said a tinny, sarcastic voice in her head that sounded something like Draco Malfoy. _Betraying them to save your own skin_.

'You are not honoured by my request of you?' Voldemort asked. There was a tinge of dangerous alert in his voice, for he was full of mistrust and ever-watchful of treachery from the untested.

'Oh, yes, my Lord,' Luna said. 'Yes, I was not expecting it. I will be honoured to serve you in whichever way you desire.' She flung her head down from her cross-legged position and felt her head touch the bedcovers. A dose of self-disgust flooded her at the ease of her acquiescence and the heartfelt tone of her voice. No Gryffindor was she.

Voldemort reached out a hand and petted Luna's head, still bent down before him. 'There, little one. You will have a hand in my victory. I will not forget the favour you have done me just now, having these dreams of yours. You have saved more than you know.'

'What have I saved?' Luna asked, her voice muffled by the bedcovers. 'What is that place?'

'A last resort,' he said. 'A place I thought was safe from intrusion, but it has one weakness: there is an underground river nearby that may attach to other caverns. According to your dream, the Order must discover this Achilles heel in the future and use it to gain access to me. There must be a cavern beneath the main chamber… I won't use that place now, for in the future it is compromised. No…' and he trailed off into his own thoughts.

Luna was a bit surprised that he'd told her so much. But she supposed a man must trust his Seer, if no one else. A little shard of triumph gleamed within her. Now she had done it. Now she had brought herself to Voldemort's inner circle, well and truly. He would not kill her on a whim now, oh no. The problem was that she had to report her dreams to him, and she was not confident enough to lie. Snape may have taught her Occlumency, but only against vague penetrations, the kind where she did not know what Voldemort was looking for. She would have to tell him the truth about her dreams.

Still, it could have been worse. Luna trusted in the higher powers of the universe, the ones that bestowed magic and Sight, so she figured that if the universe did not want Voldemort to know something, she should not be allowed to dream of it in the first place. With that check in place, she would not have to feel too guilty. However, the thing that worried her was not her own lack of guilt. It was the pleasure she felt at being useful to Voldemort, at having a power he admired, at making herself indispensable.

Of course, he would not let her forget that he was a monster. He was standing now, pacing the room clad in fine black trousers and nothing else, and Luna was not entirely surprised when he drew his wand and pressed it to her throat.

'You realize what this means,' he said in a voice that caressed her ears and made her tremble in fear.

'Y-yes – I mean, no?'

'You will take the Dark Mark,' he said. 'You will take the oath of loyalty to me, or I will kill you here and now. I will not have a Seer who is not bound to me completely.'

'I'm already bound to you,' Luna said. 'What do you call this?' She gestured at the tangled bedsheets behind her.

'You have been a servant, a body, nothing to me. Now you seem to have a use, after all. That comes with an oath.'

At a loss as to what to say, Luna contemplated her choices. She could refuse Voldemort, of course; if another Order member was in her stead, they would spit in his face and refuse to swear fealty to _him_. For a moment the image of firebrand Ginny, or self-righteous Hermione, replaced Luna's image. But then again, Snape was loyal to the Order, he was 'the source' and he had a Dark Mark… she liberated that particular thought as fast as she could, worried that Voldemort would pick it out of her mind. Without being fully conscious of it, she extended her naked left arm and turned it up for him to see the white innocent flesh, a blank page for him to write on.

At least Luna was getting a tattoo. She'd always wanted one of those.

The pain was excruciating as Voldemort lowered his wand and pressed the tip of it against the skin of her arm. He murmured some spells, mad logic in his voice, and the wand grew hot and seared deep into her skin. Luna did not scream but allowed herself to wince with the agony. It was as though the Mark went straight down to the bone, into the marrow, into her very soul.

Finally Luna understood what the 'Dark' part of it meant: it was black ink, it was black intent, poisoning her and binding her forever. The Mark had a physical presence within her. It was a permanent invasion whereas Voldemort's previous actions upon her had been temporary. She regretted it at once.

Voldemort finished his incantations and Luna glanced down at her once-pure arm. His Mark hovered there, the skull with the snake, glaring back at her with loathing and power. It hurt. She imagined it might always tingle or remind her of its presence somehow. She looked up at Voldemort as many witches and wizards had done before after receiving the dreaded brand.

'Now you say an oath to me,' he said.

Luna choked. She sat on her right hand, the one still clean, and out of Voldemort's sight she crossed her fingers. It would be her sole rebellion.

'I, Luna Lovegood, do swear loyalty to my Lord Voldemort.'

* * *

**A/N:** What does it all mean? I for one have always suspected Luna (out of all the 'main' HP characters) to be most likely to possess the Sight, at least to some extent. And she had to find a way to keep Voldemort from killing her because let's face it, he probably would have. Let their new dynamic begin… 


	11. The Other Woman

**Author's Notes:** Thank you to my reviewers, _Barranca, GoodQueenA, selenoliber, wildandclear, LemoN-X-DroP, TheAngelOfSilence, Witch of Darkness, Squiggles.Candi, _and _Lrnd._

I have an idea in my head about the look of the Riddle House, based loosely on Haddon Hall, Derbyshire… interestingly, the hall was built by someone called Peverel, just like the coat of arms on Voldemort's Horcrux ring. Google it to see pictures. For future reference, I've put Riddle's house in Derbyshire as well, because it's in accordance with canon (approx. 200 miles from Little Whinging, near London). It's pronounced 'DAR-bee-shur' for any non-British folk. :-)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made off this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Recap from Chapter 10:

'_Now you say an oath to me,' he said._

_Luna choked. She sat on her right hand, the one still clean, and out of Voldemort's sight she crossed her fingers. It would be her sole rebellion._

'_I, Luna Lovegood, do swear loyalty to my Lord Voldemort.'

* * *

_

**Chapter Eleven**

**The Other Woman**

After the Mark was taken and loyalty sworn, Luna found herself with privileges and honors, tasteless in her mouth. She was no longer confined to her room with its rose window. She got to walk about the house and grounds with relative freedom and discovered that it was a chill, misty December in the outside world. Copies of the _Daily Prophet_ were provided her, though she still could not get her hands on a copy of her father's beloved Quibbler.

'Falmouth Falcons player dead after training accident,' said the headlines one morning.

'Order of the Phoenix: helping or hurting?' said the headlines another morning.

'Weird Sisters break up!'

'Disappearances down in December,' and Luna laughed.

'Chinese Ministry supports Potter,' read another story.

In all, the _Daily Prophet_ did not seem to be screaming in the terrified tones it had once adopted concerning Voldemort. In fact, the ongoing conflict was usually displaced by other news. Luna could not help wondering if someone was paying the _Prophet_ hush money; her father had always suspected as much.

Every material thing was provided for her at the Death Eater headquarters, but Luna never thought to ask for anything. Her walks in the garden took her other places, where the plants were soft and glowing in moonlight, where Neville Longbottom told her about talking flowers and she felt the brush of a Thestral's mane through her fingers. She followed the tendrils of fog, out beyond where the Dementors were breeding, and into the broad expanse of sky that was, after all, the true nature of mind.

Her feet were always numb after these excursions into the cold. Birdy the elf fussed over her and drew hot baths and laid some furs out on her bed. All things in Luna's life seemed colder these days, but it might have been external too: the weather held a chill, a knife's edge to it. It was as though the island of Britain had floated northward into the far reaches of the Arctic when no one was looking. The rational part of Luna decided it was all the Dark magic conducted lately. It sucked the warmth out of the air, out of life itself. Lord Voldemort was remaking the world in his image.

Luna's nightly duties took on an added burden of performance. Nothing changed in the way Voldemort used her body; he was almost human. He had the needs of a man. At odd moments, Luna got the impression he was annoyed by this, but it might have been the inadvertent cause of his humanity that angered him most, rather than the appetite itself. Luna did not know what was causing the transformation of Voldemort into more of a man, but she gathered that he had no control over it.

Once she asked him 'What are you doing to yourself?' and was rewarded with a magical blow that threw her across the room and against the wall. Voldemort never hit her physically but used his wandless magic instead to contort her around as though she were a rag doll.

Yet, she shared the Dark Lord's bed every night he was in residence. She was forced to keep a journal of her dreams and was allowed space and time to meditate. Voldemort wanted her close by him in case she woke up suddenly and had a vision to impart. The trust involved with her position was not lost on Luna. She was catapulted into power over the Dark Lord all because of simple dream. No longer did Luna wonder if Voldemort would take her and use her and then kill her in the morning. She was more than entertainment now.

Voldemort made her wear thin dresses in the house so that her Dark Mark was visible to those who were looking for it. When she ran into Snape on the way to Voldemort's throne room, and Snape saw what was emblazoned on her forearm, he went a shade paler than his usual. Luna had to shake her head and send him a glance that said, 'I couldn't help it.' Snape of all people should understand. Judgment, however, was in his glance and Luna sighed and turned away just as she'd always done with people who were a step behind.

There was no winning in her situation. Either Luna was the worthless whore of the Dark Lord, his nightly 'entertainment', or she was condemned for trying to better her position in his ranks.

From Snape, however, she did learn the outcome of that mysterious battle between the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. It was fought over one of those special artefacts everyone seemed to be on the lookout for. In addition to the loss of Ron Weasley, the dead had included Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor Moody, and then Remus Lupin had gone missing. No one had seen the werewolf since. The world went a tinge darker at the news; it was so close to black now. So few lights still burned, dim and fierce. Luna felt she was one of them.

* * *

_December, the Cold Moon

* * *

_

As proof of her place within the inner circle, Luna was to dine with the Death Eaters, seated on Voldemort's left side in the big dungeon room that housed their weekly audience with the Dark Lord and their indoor torture revels. The gathering of the army would find Luna sitting, kneeling rather, to the left of Voldemort's throne. On his right side would sit Bellatrix Lestrange. It was to be a feast in honour of the victories won against the Order of the Phoenix.

In retrospect on that night Luna always remembered what she wore, because it was ripped to shreds at the end of the evening. It was a dark purple dress, corseted tightly, with sheer black sleeves of chiffon that draped off her shoulders like an afterthought. The Dark Mark showed through the sleeves; Luna could not keep her eyes off it. Around her neck was a triple thick chain of shining silver, a reminder that she was bound and paid for.

The underground room had a groin vault ceiling with gleaming bands of onyx on the joints, and green and yellow witchlights hovered and danced in the space above a sea of black hooded heads. It made the crowd seethe like a living organism. Voldemort entered and a hush fell over the Death Eaters; they all went down on their knees and bowed to him as though he was royalty. He was followed in by a mask-less Bellatrix Lestrange on the arm of her husband, Rodolphus; Luna remembered the couple from that long-ago showdown in the Department of Mysteries. Next came Snape, in his place of earned honour, and Fenrir Greyback. The werewolf made little slobbering noises that made Luna think he was hungry; it nauseated her.

She, Luna Lovegood, was next in the procession, walking alone. A few low murmurs accompanied her entrance to the hall. She could not tell if the whispers were aloud or if they were just the silent, curious eyes behind skull masks that followed her progress. It would not have been the first time Luna heard voices in her head. As she walked, her hands extended out from her as though she clung onto an invisible railing to hold her up. Dainty hands they were, thin as she was, the nails buffed by Birdy into little shining half-moons of white. Luna needed the support of her invisible handrail. The energy in the Death Eaters' lair was dense and fearful and anticipatory. It was like being amongst a pack of hungry, threatened animals.

Voldemort sat down first, his black robes flayed in dark splendor about him, his hands dangling off the armrests in an attitude of relaxation. He made a tiny motion with his right hand and the Death Eaters (Luna estimated at least two hundred of them) rose from their bowed postures.

It was when Luna turned to kneel on the cushion provided for her that she caught gazes with the woman on Voldemort's other side. Bellatrix Lestrange shot her a glare full of madness and some other black emotion that Luna did not catch. The famous woman Death Eater was beautiful and spare with straggling dark hair that caught and tangled down her back. Her eyes were dark, too, filled with fanatical fire, simmering in the white ravaged complexion of her face.

When Voldemort leaned over and whispered something in Bellatrix's ear, the woman threw Luna a look of possessive triumph and then sat down. Luna knew just what to do. She ignored Bellatrix and smiled a dreamy smile because the witchlights looked like Glowing Globber-flies. She almost enjoyed the shadows they threw over the people beneath them. The stolen stares of the Death Eaters crawled over her skin but it was a minor irritation, not enough to make her self-conscious.

Voldemort began to speak. His voice was compelling enough to yank Luna out of her reverie and into the present moment. It floated over the company, melodious notes with a shimmer of power in them, a symphony of control.

'My Death Eaters. My soldiers, my family, my loyal ones. I congratulate you. The enemy, the Order of the Phoenix, has suffered grievous losses at your well-trained hands. Their new boy leader, Potter, has lost his best friend. The recent attack on Hogsmeade was executed with perfection. There are three hundred fewer mudbloods, Muggle-lovers, and blood traitors in our midst, because of you.'

Many of the Death Eaters were nodding their heads in pride, angling their masks and preening, standing up straighter before their Lord.

'The war continues,' said Voldemort. 'Our tasks are numerous and our enemies still think they can win. We must do more than kill them one by one. We must bring the Ministry to its knees, we must take away their hope. The wizarding world will be brought to see that there is one true master amongst them, and his agents, all of you, will not be denied. Your recent actions on my command have proved your worth. And yet…'

The crowd in their soldierly darkness shuddered at this last word, a little ripple of fear that took on tangibility.

'…Yet some of you have made mistakes. Costly mistakes.'

Luna felt sure this was in regard to the magical process that was altering his appearance. However, Voldemort did not elaborate on it; he must not want his Death Eaters to perceive him weak or out of control. Better to make them think his new 'human' look was deliberate. Luna felt like she was in on a secret.

'Something important was lost to me recently,' Voldemort said. The casual, matter-of-fact tone that he took was most terrifying yet. 'I'm rather upset about it. However, those of you culpable in this loss are identified to me.'

The Death Eaters shifted and swayed like a crowd ready to run in the panic of a fire. The scent of fear hung sharp on the air.

'Goyle Senior. Yaxley. Harper. Moreane. Munchener.'

The ones guilty of their names shuffled forward, heads bowed and hands twisting. One of the Death Eaters had to be shoved by the masks behind him. An audible collective sigh of relief went up from the rest of the company that _their_ names were not marked for punishment. The doomed five stepped up and stood in a broad line before Voldemort's throne. They kneeled and kept their heads bowed, like prisoners in some Eastern country about to have their heads chopped off. Luna was curious what was going to happen to these failed Death Eaters. She did not have to wait long.

Voldemort spoke and he was a new creature from his former politeness. 'You have failed me,' he hissed, black rage suffusing his countenance, eyes gleaming so bright that they made the air in front of his face a little bit redder. 'You were given a simple task of defending a building. Yet you were so worthless as wizards, as magicians, as men that you let the Order of the Phoenix rout you! You did not stand and fight. You did not follow my _orders_. You are shamed, each one of you. Now learn the consequences of disappointing the Dark Lord.' His words then degenerated into an incoherent hiss. Luna imagined that Nagini was the only one who could really understand at that point.

The fated followers bowed as low as they could go, quivering in fear of their imminent punishment. The other Death Eaters watched, still and silent, their interest in the proceedings permeating the room with an air of callousness.

The Dark Lord's hands were no longer idle and casual on his throne's armrests. The deadly white wand of yew was brandished. He was active, kinetic, full of hate and calculation. Green-tinged light spewed from the tip of his wand and Luna barely flinched as she heard the sentence of death once upon a time pronounced for her.

One, two, three, four they fell, lifeless sacks of bone and flesh on the floor before the throne of their destroyer god. The fifth was hit with a curse, too, not the Avada Kedavra but the Cruciatus. He writhed and screamed, high-pitched like a girl; Luna noticed that his bowels had evacuated and his nails broke on the stone floor as he scrabbled in search of something to grip onto, something to make the pain stop.

A part of Luna that she did not like casually and silently observed that Voldemort was clever to leave one alive. The spared Death Eater would increase his loyalty and serve as a walking, talking example to those who dared fail their Lord and master.

As the unfortunate survivor went from screams into moans, his vocal cords exhausted with the effort, Luna threw a glance to Bellatrix Lestrange on Voldemort's other side. The woman had twin spots of high fever on her cheekbones, red and garish against her pale skin. She twisted in her seat as though restless. Her face was suffused with joy, the look of the throes of ecstasy. Luna decided that Bellatrix must get off by the 'torture' thing and wondered idly what life must be like for her husband. She also wondered if Voldemort had ever partaken in Bellatrix's odd tastes.

He certainly had with Luna, though he was always the dominant one.

The rest of the feast followed the display of torture. The food was good, if a bit too carnivorous for Luna's tastes. At least she knew the meat was not of the human variety; it had been one of the first things she asked Birdy when her status was elevated to 'prophetess'. Birdy had tittered and said, 'no, good miss, no humans is ever eaten here. Just meatses.' What a relief that had been.

She picked at her leg of mutton with a sharp silver fork. Voldemort likewise did not eat much, though his appetite was greater than it had been the first time Luna dined with him. Now she had eaten across the table with him enough times that he was a familiar dinner companion, an actual source of strength and surety in the midst of this teeming crowd of Dark wizards. Luna mirrored his movements, drank when he drank, brought food to her mouth when he did. So did Bellatrix on the other side. Voldemort had that kind of power over them.

Luna was allowed to watch with some interest the initiation of new Death Eaters. Her curiosity was not aroused by the process itself, for she'd already gone through the oath and the branding of the Mark. Rather, Luna wanted to see who Voldemort was enticing to his side these days. Many of the Slytherins from Luna's year at Hogwarts were now Death Eaters, like their parents. The ones who weren't may have been quiet supporters, not directly involved in the violence, again like their parents. It was a parents' world, Luna thought. She remembered Crabbe, the bulky-as-ever dungeon guard, and Goyle too. It was a minor marvel that their bullying leader, Draco Malfoy, had done what he did and sought refuge with the Order. The last Luna had ever heard of Malfoy, he was living with his mother in anonymity in France. She hoped that Voldemort never found them.

There were a few surprises that night of Luna's debut. A group of people came forward before Voldemort, about a dozen in total, each wearing identical expressions. Fear, hope, and anxiety held equal sway over their features. Luna thought the mouths were anxious, twisting and loose; the left eyes held hope; the right eyes fear. The eyebrows she could not decide on.

There were familiar faces amongst these new recruits, including several Slytherins who'd been in Luna's year at Hogwarts: little Johnny Avery, slight and slim but mean, whose grandfather had been one of the original Death Eaters. Pretty, bitchy Diana Calliope, never good with the curses but vicious with her gossip. Luna made a note to tell Voldemort to use her in his public relations department. Diana could make any lie, any rumour, sound plausible.

Then there was one that made Luna raise her own undecided eyebrows. A fellow Ravenclaw who'd been two years above her, a former fellow of Dumbledore's Army: Marietta Edgecomb, who still had the word 'sneak' faint and dotty across her forehead. Marietta's eyes were hollow with a deep sparkle of fever within them; fear swallowing hope, of course.

None of these greenly-glowing faces could know what awaited them. Some of them would not live through their loyalty, through fear or incompetence or sheer bad luck. Luna felt bad for the new Death Eaters in spite of their choice; they had no experience with it. She had practise surviving with her cold, insane, high-pitched master in his hysterical ambition. She'd carved a place for her own little self. A permanent little eddy of lightness that swirled in his wake.

None of her former classmates looked at Luna as Voldemort summoned them forward one at a time. It was like the Sorting Ceremony at Hogwarts, except you didn't get a house and a meal at the end of it. You got the burden of evil seared into your skin and the promise to follow its every bidding.

Luna counted the tines on her fork and noticed there were five. Odd. But they were extra sharp and thin. That's why five could fit, instead of the usual four. Knowing Voldemort, there was some numerological, magical reason behind it; his obsessions extended even to cutlery.

The rest of the evening was filled the usual Death Eater activities. Voldemort made another speech for the morale of the troops. He was a master at the manipulation of a crowd and by the end of it, the Death Eaters were hailing him, prostrating themselves before him, jumping with excitement and anticipation. Even Luna was not immune to the floating sweet deception of Voldemort; the sound of him made her want to dance a ballroom waltz, for some reason. He had a waltzing voice.

Voldemort stood up. He beckoned for his best followers to accompany him in the same order of procession out of the room. The hierarchy of the Death Eaters was a way to keep control of their ambitions: always trying to outdo each other, always climbing. Those at the bottom wanted to get to the top. Those at the top wanted to stay there. And Luna floated along where she was. She did not think of herself as a Death Eater, despite the incriminating mark that twisted on her skin, ever moving and ever a reminder that she had a job to do for her Lord. A dreaming, making-things-up, seeing-the-future job.

It was in the procession out that Luna realized she would have trouble. Nagini, who'd occupied the place of true honour draped around Voldemort's shoulders during the feast, slithered off her spot on the throne and wrapped around Luna's leg with a placating glance at Luna's unfinished piece of cherry pie. Luna, being able to read the moods of creatures and knowing that Nagas loved a fruit pie as much as the next person, fed the pie to Nagini with a gentle caress on the scaly serpent's head.

Bellatrix let out a guttural murmur and glared at Luna before heading down the parted sea of the Death Eaters to follow Voldemort's footsteps out of the hall. Bellatrix whispered something first to her husband, nudging him and glaring at Luna and Nagini again. Then she gestured to Fenrir Greyback, who leered in the general vicinity of Luna's breasts. Or perhaps it was her strong beating heart that the werewolf was after?

Voldemort abandoned them in the upstairs hallway with a curt word. Luna could tell he wanted to be alone and could almost hear the pacing of his footsteps in his empty second-floor 'throne room,' bare and stark and empty of all. The functional room of Voldemort's mind. With all his wild imaginings and torments and plans, he needed an ascetic background to reflect it all back to him with faded woods and bare windows.

Luna was about to go back to her own room when she felt a hand snatch her elbow: it was Bellatrix, her face contorted with rage and jealousy. The woman yanked Luna into a room off the main corridor of the house. To Nagini's credit, the snake followed Luna.

It had once been a morning room, judging from the pale green brocade curtains that hung dusty on tall windows. It must now be a conference room of some kind, because there were stacks of parchment on the mother-of-pearl table and two chairs that faced one another. Interrogations, perhaps? Luna endured a silent interrogation then with Bellatrix's black flashing eyes as they searched the face of the Dark Lord's new pet prophetess.

'Who do you think you are?' Bellatrix finally hissed, unsatisfied with staring.

'Luna Lovegood. And I know you, too. You're Bellatrix Lestrange.'

'Don't tell me my own name, girl. And don't address me with that impudent tone, either!'

'I speak the truth,' Luna said. Her thoughts were dead and inane now, opinions about dinner, ideas about how the top hall in the house needed new carpet runners, proposals to make a hedgerow maze in the garden. Thoughts floating like bloated corpses in a swollen river. She did it for Bellatrix's sake, for the woman kept attempting Legilimency, though with a fraction the skill of Voldemort. The invasions were sharp and wild and unfocused.

'You're not one of us,' Bellatrix said. It sounded like the worst thing to be accused of. 'You're a little pretender and I don't trust you.' She laughed as an expert at mania. 'But I know something you don't know. Something about our Dark Lord. He would never confide in you, but I – I am his most loyal. His pet. He has trusted me with much, and while you may think you have a place, you're nothing but filler. He'll kill you in a moment. You're dispensable.'

Luna said nothing because she was afraid it might be true. Voldemort might be playing a game with her or using her as a tool, nothing more. Bellatrix said it with such fervour that it had to be true. The lines on her face were hard and cunning like an animal's, lacking the kind of cool deception that Voldemort regularly engaged in. Yes, Bella was a brilliant witch, but her emotions got the better of her. Even if Luna _was_ indispensable to Voldemort, Bellatrix believed otherwise, and such was the strength of her conviction that Luna wavered in her own self-faith.

Bellatrix jumped a little, hovering on the balls of her feet. Her wand was out, a long wand made of what looked like ebony, a dark and deep and heavy wood for a person of similar character.

'What are you doing?' Luna asked, more out of curiosity than fear.

'Teaching you a lesson about the way things work around here,' said Bellatrix. Her eyes flashed in anticipation.

On the floor, Nagini hissed and wrapped around Luna's feet. Whether this was to protect Luna or to help Bellatrix, Luna never knew. What she did know was that Bellatrix could be very creative, even with the Cruciatus Curse. Luna had had no idea _that_ torture could be modified to certain kinds of pain, but as Bellatrix said the incantation, she found out.

It was as though lead hammers pounded into her flesh at strategic spots: her hips, abdomen, her inner thighs (which were bruised already), her cheekbones and shoulders and knees. Soft places where the flesh was sensitive, hard places where the bone was too close to the skin to offer much cushioning against the invisible onslaught. Luna did not breathe, for she did not want attention drawn to her lungs. She did as she'd done these past months in pain: she gritted her teeth and bore it and tried to think of a happier place.

For some reason she thought of Voldemort's chamber and hung out there for awhile.

She could not fight back; she still had no wand. Perhaps this would convince Voldemort that she was unsafe in his headquarters, and a delicious little thrill counteracted the pain when Luna thought about what the Dark Lord might do to Bellatrix when he saw the bruises on his precious prophetess. It made Luna almost want the pain to continue.

It stopped.

A nasty cutting charm came next, a hissed word from behind Bella's red-bitten lips, a new curse that Luna hadn't yet experienced. She didn't want it repeated in the future, she decided, as whip-like ropes of white heat swirled around her and lacerated her skin in a million little papercuts. The fine silk of her corset was snagged and ruined. One sleeve fell off entirely. Tears came up to her eyes as the stinging pain went on and on. 'Stop it,' Luna whispered. 'Just stop.'

Bellatrix laughed. 'Beg me,' she said.

'Don't you know what I am to him?' Luna loathed the tone of self-importance in her own voice but could not help the sentiment behind it. 'He's going to do something to you if you don't – please – stop, no I mean it!' Of their own volition her face muscles screwed up against the tiny devil's cuts down her exposed skin. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides and her shoulders held straight in an attitude of endurance. She turned her head away from the mad, beautiful Bellatrix dancing in curses before her.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door of the once-upon-a-time morning room. Bellatrix swore in a low voice that sounded more man than woman. Luna was released from the woven light web of cutting charms that tormented her, but Bellatrix put her under a Silencing charm.

Smiley and Yorkie were at the door, bulky and bobbing their usual. Both went into head-bows of respect when they saw Bellatrix Lestrange. 'Madam,' said Yorkie.

'What do you want?' Bellatrix asked. The rapid turnaround in tone from her feverish administrations was astonishing: her voice sounded commanding, raspy, normal.

'The Dark Lord has requested the presence of – ' Yorkie stopped as he beheld Luna's appearance. 'Umm…'

'She'll be along shortly,' Bellatrix said. 'We were just having a talk. Woman to woman. I'll escort her to our Lord myself. Go.'

There was such authority in the last word that Yorkie and Smiley bowed again and left. Luna moved her mouth and pulled a face of desperation, but they did not see it. She was left with Bellatrix.

'_Finite,_' said Bella, releasing the Silencing charm. 'The Dark Lord wants you, does he? I'd better fix you up.'

The tears came in earnest when Bellatrix cast a quick series of healing charms back over Luna's wounded and bruised skin. Her ripped and tattered dress was left as it was. And how would Voldemort believe her when she told him how the dress was ruined? It would be her word against Bellatrix's, and Luna had no vote of confidence that the snake would vouch for her. The only thing Luna wanted was truth.

'Why did you do this?' Luna asked. She was curious, even as the tears of pain and frustration coursed down her face in salty tracks. 'You're his, I'm his.'

'Oh-ho!' Bellatrix said. 'Yes, yes, I suppose that makes us sisters, doesn't it? Little Loony, my sister in evil.' She laughed again. 'I think not. And since when does _his_ familiar become your new friend?'

Nagini, on the floor at Luna's feet, had not moved throughout the onslaught of restrained torturous intent from Bellatrix. Now the great snake hissed and rested her big triangle head on Luna's shoe.

'She's a Naga,' Luna said. 'Her loyalties are to the Dark Lord.'

'I know that, you stupid child. So why is the _Naga_ here, and not with our Lord?' Bellatrix addressed the question almost to Nagini herself.

'Don't know,' said Luna. 'Perhaps Voldemort told her to _protect_ me.'

'You dare speak his name!' Bellatrix screeched. 'You dare! Show some respect! _Stupefy!_'

Luna flew across the small room and was flung into a small table that shattered on her impact. She gasped and retched with the force of it. Nagini watched from the floor as Luna's legs were ripped from the slithering snake's grasp. With a cough and several deep breaths, Luna helped herself back up and tried to stand tall as she said, 'I've earned the right to say Voldemort's name.'

Nagini hissed, whether in agreement or amusement or disapproval, neither woman could tell.

'I don't trust you, you little whore, and he shouldn't, either. Come on.' Bellatrix gripped Luna's arm and the iron talon-like grip cut off the circulation beneath Luna's white skin. They darted out of the room and made fast progress down the dimly lit hall toward Voldemort's throne room.

'My Dark Mark is humming,' Luna said lightly. She said it because it was true, and she said it to remind Bellatrix that she _was_ initiated into the Death Eaters.

'Shut up,' said Bellatrix.

The two women stood side-by-side. Both knocked on the door at the same time. They waited for their master to settle the question of loyalty once and for all.


	12. Stronger and Weaker

**Author's Notes:** Umm… Yeah, Bellatrix has a bit of an impulsive streak, to put it mildly. :-) Thank you, reviewers: _Barranca, TheAngelOfSilence, Voldiesgirl999, potterlovegood, Sarah Coldheart, saint liz, wildandclear, Squiggles.Candi, SailorHecate, Kristina, jka1, selenoliber, _and _Lrnd._

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Recap from Chapter 11: 

'_My Dark Mark is humming,' Luna said lightly. She said it because it was true, and she said it to remind Bellatrix that she was initiated into the Death Eaters. _

'_Shut up,' said Bellatrix._

_The two women stood side-by-side. Both knocked on the door at the same time. They waited for their master to settle the question of loyalty once and for all.

* * *

_

**Chapter Twelve**

**Stronger and Weaker**

'What's all this?' Voldemort said softly. His glittering scarlet eyes crawled across Luna's tattered ruin of a dress. 'And why have you interrupted me?' 

'I apologise deeply, my Lord,' Bellatrix said, sinking to the floor and prostrating herself so that her hair flung out from her head in a curtain of admiration. 'I thought you should know. This little creature here can't be trusted.'

'Indeed?' said Voldemort.

Luna could not think of any words to defend herself. Something had stolen her tongue. She settled for kneeling. Nagini hissed once and curled up beside her.

'Yes,' Bellatrix continued, 'I've seen her thoughts. She has every intention of betraying you to her little friends. She hates you. And she's going to kill your snake.'

The noise of protest from Luna's mouth did not come out loud enough. She wondered if her voice had a mind of its own, or if perhaps the _Silencio_ had after-effects on speech. Bellatrix's accusations were a little too close to the truth for Luna's taste.

'Is she?' Voldemort asked. He walked across the room, a soft silken walk across rough floorboards, until he was before Luna and Bellatrix. With his long white fingers he grasped Luna's chin so that she looked up at him. 'Rise up.'

She rose.

Voldemort tilted his head and looked into Luna's eyes. This part was familiar. He would invade her and go wherever he liked inside the wild, spacious place that was Luna's mind. The height of the cold moon gave Luna power and she let her defenses assert themselves, all the while looking wide-eyed and innocent and welcoming of Voldemort's Legilimency. 'I would not betray you, my Lord,' she said, and was surprised at how true it sounded.

Twin beams of red inquiry shot inside her, searching and sorting and finding, as Luna discovered her own nature through his eyes. She let the right things come forward, namely the abuse by Bellatrix of a few moments ago. Voldemort saw the whole incident but seemed unsurprised. He kept looking.

He found something that even Luna did not know was there. He plucked out a thought, the view of his own chambers as a comfort, the pleasure Luna could not help taking in being there and playing chess with him and holding conversations. He smiled with a too-human smile and his not-human-enough red eyes left her alone and dizzy.

'Her loyalties are to me, Bella,' Voldemort said.

Bellatrix, risen from the floor by now, licked her lips. 'Are you sure, my Lord? I was sure I saw –'

'Do not contradict me,' he said coldly. Bellatrix's face paled. 'But,' he continued, 'I wonder. Can you tell me about a few images I just divined? Did you think I would not know what you've done? How dare you undercut me by harming my Seer?'

Bellatrix shook her head desperately. 'Oh, that was nothing, my Lord, I was just teaching her a little lesson –'

'That is my job,' Voldemort hissed. '_Crucio._'

The worst part of it was how Bellatrix reacted to the Dark Lord's torture curse. She fell to the floor, jerking and writhing in pain, hands clenching in spasms, hips bucking. But her face was one of pleasure. Luna watched, horrified. The woman had no limits on depravity.

Voldemort laughed quietly. 'She likes that,' he said as though in an aside to Luna.

'Stop it,' Luna whispered. 'Don't let her enjoy it.'

Unexpectedly, Voldemort stopped the curse. Bellatrix pouted.

'What do you suggest instead?' Voldemort asked Luna. 'Tell me. Your whim is my command.'

To inflict punishment was not in Luna's nature, nor was judgment, nor did she have any idea what to do. What would stop Bellatrix from hurting her in the future, out of jealousy for the regard of a monster? This witch, Bellatrix Lestrange, was strong and powerful and cunning. She was like a superwoman. She had killed Ron Weasley, who had once laughed and loved and teased and played Quidditch and complimented Luna on how _well_ she commentated for the Hogwarts games. Bellatrix was Voldemort's right hand in the war, and he would never injure her, not really. Now the woman knelt on the floor, looking pleadingly, teasingly up at Voldemort. She tossed her glossy wild hair around like the mane on a horse –

'Cut off her hair,' said Luna in a voice that was hardly her own.

It had the desired effect. Bellatrix's eyes widened in astonishment and anger. She brought her lips back in a snarl against her sharply glinting white teeth. 'How dare you –'

'Interesting,' said Voldemort. His crimson king's eyes met Luna's and she found approval there for her cleverness. 'Bella, this will teach you not to harm my pets. I've already spoken to you about Nagini. You must rein in your jealousy. Do not forget that you are my protégé, my best captain, my most loyal one. I've honoured you in countless ways. Is that not enough for you?'

'Of course it's enough, my Lord, I'm sorry, I – please, don't take my hair. I'll leave her alone. I'll even find Harry Potter for you, I'll bring him here…'

'Shut up,' said Voldemort. 'Don't make promises you can't keep. Bow before Lord Voldemort.'

Without a choice, Bellatrix bowed, and Luna watched as the Dark Lord murmured the charm that left the witch Lestrange with a close-shaven head, still noble in its shape, and a pile of shorn black hair that looked like spilled ink on the floor. An uncomfortable squirm of delight clasped around Luna's heart, leaving black marks there, marks like the one on her left forearm. She wished she could have gotten revenge like this on those Hogwarts girls who'd always teased her so mercilessly. If their hair had fallen out, they would have left Luna alone. She choked on her own breath at the thought.

No. It wasn't right. Bellatrix deserved it, but the others… _who do you think you are to pronounce judgment on who ought to be bald?_ A voice, sweet and clear, spoke to Luna. She thought it the voice of Conscience. Something to be listened to. _Don't let it go to your head, or your own hair might start falling out. Then what would you have to play with?_

After Conscience started talking, it was hard to get it to be quiet again. Luna hadn't been in touch with that part of herself in awhile. It took her several minutes of concentration to calm her mind and stifle the remorse. By the time she met Voldemort's eyes again, he was bored with them and wanted to be alone. It was obvious.

She wanted to ask him for her wand back, but just as the question formed on her tongue, Luna lost her nerve. Her trustworthiness had been tested this evening and she did not want to push her luck. 'My Lord,' Luna bowed, taking her leave. Bellatrix followed. Nagini stayed with their master.

Luna and Bellatrix walked down the corridor, a new dynamic suffusing the air between them, something approaching equality. Bellatrix clutched the pile of black hair that once lived on her head. The shorn woman's features now almost resembled those of Voldemort himself: spare, noble, lines of madness.

'You know,' said Luna, 'bald is sort of fashionable. It makes big earrings look better. I wouldn't have suggested it if I thought you couldn't pull it off.'

Bellatrix looked at her as though she were crazy but said nothing to contradict the opinion.

'Good night,' Luna said, waving.

'Watch yourself,' said Bellatrix. 'You may think you're in with _him_, but he can turn in a second. He doesn't let anyone in. Not even me.' A twinge passed across her face as she said it, as though she had surprised herself by revealing so much to Loony Luna. But then Bellatrix set herself back into defiance and nodded once, leaving Luna standing in the hallway at the top of the stairs of the Riddle House.

* * *

Luna dreamt alone. She occupied the Dark Lord's bed but he was absent, on a mission or a revel or an errand, of whatever kind evil dictators had to do. She tossed and turned unselfconsciously, naked but for a thin silk shift that grazed the tops of her thighs. It did not matter, for there was none to see her. Her blonde hair, intact unlike Bellatrix's, spread across the pillows in braids and rivulets of pale dirty gold. The same thing kept haunting her dreams, a vision of Voldemort gaining strength and ability, getting stronger. In her dreams he was very unhappy about it. 

It was the last day in December when she saw him again. She'd confined herself to the house for the past month with no one for company aside from Nagini. It was a depressing month for Luna, lonely, and she had no real significant Seer's dreams to report. Christmas had come and gone, unnoticed; Luna had not realized it until two days after the fact. It was a blessing, for she knew that memories of Christmas with her father might have undone her.

She saw Bellatrix a few more times after that feast night's attacks; the female Death Eater gave Luna wide berth and dark glances from beneath long-lashed, tired eyes. Snape, too, avoided Luna and would not give her any information on the Order of the Phoenix. When Luna stopped him in a hallway and asked who was still alive, he shook his head and his gaze trailed to the spot on her arm where the Dark Mark resided… As though it made her untrustworthy, as if she were a ticking time-bomb and she would rat him out to Voldemort as the 'source.'

On New Year's Eve, a wild storm blew in from the north. As though it came straight from the cold Norse god-realm of Valhalla, the black clouds brought blacker hail and winds and unforgiving thunder. Luna watched from the window of Voldemort's bedroom. She wore a simple white dress, a foil to the flashes of mean lightning that winked knowingly at her. From the window she could see Dementors reveling in the weather, vague shapes in the storm, ghastly because she knew what they were. The elements battled it out. In between thunderclaps, she heard a knock on the door, and she hesitated. Was she supposed to answer for Voldemort?

It was Theodore Nott. Luna's former classmate wore standard Death Eater's robes but no mask; his job was of the office variety. Luna tilted her head at Nott; she'd seen him but twice over the duration of her captivity. She knew that Nott's job was similar to the one Wormtail had vacated: the Dark Lord's secretary, his quiet and loyal butler, scribing notes and keeping Voldemort's busy schedule in order. There was nothing nasty about Nott, in Luna's opinion. He was just an errand-boy.

'Hello, Theodore,' Luna said.

Nott nodded at her. 'Please step aside. The Dark Lord has returned to the premises and I'm to prepare his quarters.'

'He takes Assam tea in the evenings,' Luna said in an effort to be helpful.

Nott ignored her and set about tidying the room, setting out a stack of books, and opening a curious box filled with potions vials. They looked medicinal.

'What's that?' Luna asked.

No answer as Nott drew the curtains closed against the storm.

'Why don't the house-elves do this?' she tried again.

'He doesn't trust house-elves,' Nott said. 'They're too easily manipulated. You know that. Please, Lovegood, move aside.'

Luna was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her shoeless feet tucked beneath her in a lotus position. 'Trust me, the bed is where he wants me.' She looked directly into Nott's eyes, letting him draw his conclusions if he hadn't already, and she was unashamed when she saw the little gleam of understanding.

'Fine,' said Nott. He said no more as he finished and left the room.

An uncomfortable little worm of anticipation started to flip through Luna's stomach. Where had Voldemort been? And would he look different? Luna could not shake the feeling that the war was starting to pick up pace. A spiral of events went faster and faster toward the inevitable: the confrontation between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter. In her private thoughts, Luna felt that things could be resolved a different way, but both Voldemort and Harry seemed hell-bent on the destruction of the other. The weakness of the Order of the Phoenix had always been the non-understanding of _how_ and _why_ society might support the choices Voldemort had made. The Dark Lord was not an island unto himself; his evil actions had won him benefits in a world where the right path was not always rewarded.

Glancing around the room, she thought that yes, power gave rich rewards. The furnishings were in the highest taste, those intricate colourful carpets and the expensive candles and the carved, heavy furniture. In the corner stood the most intriguing item of all: a cabinet, which Voldemort had never opened. He refused to tell Luna what was inside. She'd asked on several occasions and gotten nothing for her troubles. For fun, and for practise, she decided to meditate and try to See what was inside the cabinet.

An hour later she was in a half-trance, Seeing nothing but a multitude of faces, which was ridiculous because so many people could not fit inside a single cabinet… she didn't _think_, anyway.

Luna heard the door open and a light footfall on the carpet. Her eyes popped open to see Voldemort standing there in a deeply hooded black cloak; he was identifiable by his long-fingered white hands. Luna waited to be spoken to. A funny urge came over her to throw her arms around him in support; there was a slump to his shoulders.

The room was thick with the silence as Voldemort swung off the black cloak. His face looked the same, vaguely deformed and not-quite-human, but an expression of weariness created lines across his smooth skin. He saw the layout of medicinal potions, glinting and colourful on the table, and a small noise of approval came from his throat. He pulled the stopper on a vial filled with dark fluid and knocked it back as though it were a shot of alcohol.

'Sir?' Luna asked after he swallowed. She was unable to bear the suspense.

'Luna,' Voldemort said. 'What have you learned in my absence?'

'Learned?'

'What have you seen? In your dreams, your meditations?' A note of impatience crept into Voldemort's voice.

'Oh, that.' Luna played with a strand of her hair. A negative answer might put him into a temper; his tension played into his movements and eyes. Best to lie, then. 'I had one significant vision,' she said. 'I saw you getting stronger.'

'Stronger,' he said bitterly. 'Yes, yes.'

'Can I ask why?' Luna stared at him from her place on the bed. 'What's happening? What is this process that you've talked about? And the healing potions? And the artefacts?'

It was a great many questions for the space of a few seconds. Voldemort said nothing; it seemed no one wanted to answer Luna's queries today. She sighed.

'It's the last day in December,' said Voldemort.

'Yes. And, it's New Year's Eve.'

Then Voldemort himself sighed. It sounded almost… wistful.

He sat in his armchair, took out a book, and began to read. 'Find something to occupy yourself,' he said to Luna.

She stared at him for a moment and then chose a book for herself. Instead of a chair, she sat herself on the carpet in front of the fire, like Nagini. Turning pages two at a time, she looked at the pictures (it was a book about giants) and wondered what life would be like if she were twenty feet tall. Then her head would really be in the clouds.

After about an hour, the Dark Lord slammed his book closed, causing Luna to jump. He brought a white hand to his temple; he clenched his fist. He made a small noise. Slowly and with measured movements, he stood up, placed the book back on the shelf, and walked across the room to grip one of the bedposts, still as a statue.

'Master?' Luna asked.

He started to say something… and then, Voldemort clutched at his head, a terrifying sudden movement so against his normal control. His face screwed up in agony and he fell back onto the bed as though his legs could no longer support his weight. Long fingers raked through his black hair and his joints went into spasms, as though he suffered an epileptic fit. The air around him shimmered with physically visible black streaks and swirls.

Luna stared at the display. He was vulnerable. He was weak. And her reaction was not to take advantage of it, but to ease his pain. She heaved herself up from the floor and crossed the room to look through the box of potions… she wanted to find something to stop the seizure… or some Draught of Peace in case he was in pain. She found what she was looking for and grasped the bottle with quick fingers.

'Here,' she said, 'Draught of Peace. Drink this.'

'No,' he gasped, 'no, it won't help.' And he shut his mouth stubbornly and refused the potion.

Luna knew it was not because he didn't trust her. It was because this was some kind of involuntary transition, something that no potion would cure. She set herself gingerly on the side of the bed next to him. Somehow his hand found hers and they gripped each other tightly, and Luna watched, fascinated, as small ripples raced beneath Voldemort's skin, as though he'd taken Polyjuice Potion.

The change started in his hands. They changed colour from chalk white into a more human tone of pale. Then his features shifted and popped and morphed into something beautiful and horrible. His nose became defined, normal. His brow was no longer flat and serpentine, but shaped into an aristocratic nobility. His skin regained a touch of colour; not much, but some. His eyes were closed.

It was like watching a frog turn into a dashing prince, but this was _not right_. Looking at the Dark Lord's new visage, Luna was reminded of the description of him given by Ginny, who knew him as Tom Riddle. Ginny had spilled the beans to Luna after they'd shared a bottle of wine and the deepest secrets of the heart had come out. 'The Dark Lord was handsome once,' Ginny had confessed. 'Dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin.' At the time it had seemed ludicrous in light of Voldemort's snake-like appearance; now Luna saw what Ginny meant. He _was_ handsome.

Voldemort shivered and shuddered under the burden of his apparent humanity. Luna caressed the skin of his hand with her thumb, non-intrusive in her affection, wishing only to convey that she was there to give comfort if he wished it.

He must have passed out, for his eyes did not open and he stayed prone and unmoving. Luna lay down next to him, still holding his hand, and sleep claimed her, too. Her mind produced images of candlelight and crystal and strange rituals in the night; of dark robes and red high-heels; of her Thestral friend Abacus, flying in endless circles over the Riddle House, high in the atmosphere away from detection, missing his girl rider.

When she awoke an hour later, Luna jumped up at the discovery that Voldemort was not lying beside her any longer. She glanced around and saw his tall, thin frame facing the window, one hand clenching the brocade curtain at his side.

'Sir?' she ventured.

He did not tense at her voice, did not even move. Just kept looking out. She thought she heard his shallow breath, but was not positive of it. When he turned around, it was a shock she had been expecting, but a shock nonetheless.

Voldemort looked human. Gone were the serpentine features which had struck terror into the hearts of wizards everywhere; brought to colour and life was the white skin that had once seemed undead. His raven-black hair was so dark there was a tinge of blue to it, and showed his middle age by distinguished grey hairs coming in at the temples. His face was that of an aristocrat, hollowed cheeks and well-formed nose, a mouth that was cold and hard, a brow that was at present furrowed into a scowl. Voldemort was pale still, but not disgustingly so.

But when he opened his eyes fully, Luna gave a start, because they were the same as they'd always been. Red. Glaring. Bright as though the fires of hell burned behind them. Set in such an attractive face, the eyes made Voldemort look like a true demon, a fallen angel; they emphasized what he really was in a way that his other, snake-like self had never done. He looked more frightening than ever before.

'Master,' Luna breathed. 'You are stronger now. Why are you upset? You're full of life. You like that, right?'

'Did you dream of anything?' he asked. There was a note of desperation in his voice as though he needed to hear a good fortune.

'A Thestral,' Luna said. 'The one who was once attached to me. His name was Abacus.'

Voldemort made a noise in his throat. 'Is it the same one that keeps flying around the wards? It's damned persistent, no one could figure out why.'

'He's here?' Luna scrambled up, excited. 'I'm so glad! He always was such a good Thestral, and I'm sure he's been missing the sugar cubes I used to conjure for him. Where has he been, I wonder? Maybe he went to Iceland, I always got the impression he would like to see the glaciers there…' she trailed off, noting Voldemort's expression of impatience. He would curse her if she wasn't careful. His new face was no easier to read in terms of how close he was to the edge of temper. 'Sorry,' she said.

'The Thestrals like you,' said Voldemort. 'Creatures of death. Loyal. Dark. Misunderstood. Much like my followers, my cause, wouldn't you agree? Were you always so drawn to it?'

'I'm not afraid of the dark,' Luna said stubbornly. 'And I'm not afraid to ask you now: what's happened to you? What is this magical process that's added to your power, but that you're so upset about? If you don't tell me, my Lord, I can't help you. The more I know, the more I can See.' She put deliberate emphasis on her last word.

Voldemort laughed. It was a high laugh, filled with ice and not humour. It was a laugh that made Luna shiver. 'The _magical process_,' he said. 'Yes. That's a term for it.'

With a graceful swing of her legs, Luna got up from her place on the bed and stood before the Dark Lord. 'I would hear about it, if you would tell me,' she said. Her voice was a mere whisper that carried, soft and delicate, across the space between them.

He sat in the leather armchair by the window and Luna took this as a sign that he was about to speak. She crawled across the floor and sat at his feet, looking up, head tilted and curious. And curious she was; this might be a first. There was a tinge of honesty in the air that rarely accompanied Voldemort. In the moments after such an upset to his mind, it might be the weakness she sought, the off-guard instant where he would give her something to work with. She blinked, encouraging him to talk with her own silence.

'I –' he stopped and let out a huff of ironic amusement, 'I seem to have regained my soul.'

'Your soul?' It would not surprise Luna to know that Voldemort had done something appalling with his heart and soul. He had never been the type to value such things.

'Have you ever heard of a Horcrux, little one? Did your dear friend Potter never tell you about them?'

Luna shook her head in sincerity. The word rang a little bell somewhere, as though she _should_ know what it was, but the reference escaped her.

'A Horcrux is a safeguard. It prevents death. It is a physical housing for the soul, a place to keep it forever, a way to make oneself immortal. It is created by the act of murder, which splits the soul and frees a part to be put inside a Horcrux. In my case, I made –' he paused, uncaring of Luna's expression of horror, '—I made five Horcruxes before my defeat, or rather that _setback_, involving Harry Potter. I intended his murder to be my sixth Horcrux, which would have split my soul into seven pieces.' There was boasting in his voice. How he must have wanted to brag about his brilliant idea, and been unable to for so long.

'Seven,' said Luna, 'the most powerful magical number.' She refused to rise to his pride and focused on the facts.

'Yes.'

'So…' Luna paused to gather her thoughts. Horcruxes. What a disgusting, unnatural thing to do. And it was not the way she herself would pursue immortality – so much could go wrong with a Horcrux. What if the object were lost or destroyed? And then it all became clear, as though a storm in her mind had broken and left the skies fresh and clean. 'The artefacts,' she blurted. 'When you first interrogated me. The Order has been looking for your Horcruxes. And – and they must have found them. Or at least some. Most. They've destroyed them! The pieces of your soul are rejoining you!'

With an unpleasant sneer, Voldemort brought his hands together and clapped gently. 'Oh, bravo. Very good. You've solved it all.'

With a gulp Luna looked down at his feet. 'I just –'

'You can't possibly understand,' Voldemort hissed. His voice sounded the same as it always had, cold and sweet and compelling. 'They have weakened me. They think they know how to defeat Lord Voldemort.'

'And do they?' Luna asked. 'Have they destroyed _all_ the Horcruxes?' And she held her breath, for she knew Voldemort would tell her how many were left…

'All but one,' said Voldemort. 'That is why my appearance has taken this form. I'm almost human again.' He said it with such contempt that Luna wanted to cringe away from being human, herself. 'Only I remain, and Nagini, whom I turned into my sixth Horcrux after my rebirth…'

'No wonder I get along with Nagini,' Luna said cheerfully. 'She's part of you. Or you're part of her. Well, you know what I mean.'

The Dark Lord glanced down at Luna. His eyes flashed for a moment; if he had been anyone else, Luna might have taken it for affection. With long fingers he played with a lock of her hair, leaning back in his chair, mouth tight but the rest of his face relaxed. For a moment, Luna relaxed too, leaning her head against his knee in a parody of intimacy. She inspected her fingernails, long and painted bright blue today, and felt the slight caress as her hair moved under his hand.

She thought about what to do next.

* * *

**A/N: **So that's why Voldemort's appearance has been shifting. As I've noted before, we're not sure about the mechanics of Horcruxes, but as creative license his soul will cobble itself back together. Since Horcruxes go against nature, I've made it so that nature might reassert itself upon their destruction. This will become important later. 


	13. In a Fog of War

**Author's Notes:** Gratitude to my reviewers: _SailorHecate, TheAngelOfSilence, JustYourAverageReviewer, Barranca, LemoN-X-DroP, Sarah Coldheart, Lrnd, selenoliber, Vasilisa23, _and _Squiggles.Candi_.

In this chapter, Voldemort comes to terms with his new form, Luna gets an idea about what to do next, and we learn (maybe) what Nagini's human name was before she converted into a Naga.

Also, I apologise for the dreadful cliffhanger… but this chapter was getting so long I had to do it. I promise the next installment will be up in a week, as usual :-)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made off this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

In the last chapter: 

_The Dark Lord glanced down at Luna….With long fingers he played with a lock of her hair, leaning back in his chair, mouth tight but the rest of his face relaxed. For a moment, Luna relaxed too, leaning her head against his knee in a parody of affection…_

_She thought about what to do next.

* * *

_

**Chapter Thirteen**

**In a Fog of War**

Luna's eyes were half-closed and Voldemort was silent. They remained in their position of master-servant, Dark Lord and his little prophetess, man and woman. He sat in the chair and she rested with her head against his knee.

The implications of what Voldemort had told her were enormous. The Horcruxes were almost all destroyed. It had come at a price; Ron Weasley was dead in combat, along with Merlin only knew who else. The Order of the Phoenix must be working in manic determination to defeat Voldemort once and for all and destroy the black thing that ate through the goodness of the world. There were but two pieces left: Nagini, and Voldemort himself with his almost-intact soul.

Luna lifted her head for a moment and twisted around to look at the Dark Lord. His head was thrown back, his eyes shut. A tiny wrinkle of worry marred his human brow. She gazed at him with a lump in her throat. It was impossible to tell whether she feared him in that moment, or whether it was something else; her brain was busy working with the concept of Horcruxes and their function and their destruction.

Voldemort would only get stronger and stronger up until the day he died. It was obvious. He'd always been magically powerful, but with most of his soul freed and returned to him, he held a vitality that was terrifying. Luna looked at his face, strong and handsome, the face of a middle-aged wizard in fine health. His body was thin and sinewy, deceptive in its strength. His hands dangled off the armrests, strange and long-fingered, but flawless. For a moment Luna imagined him as a sculpture or a painting. It was easy to do in his stillness, with his demonic eyes hidden behind eyelids.

'You're staring,' said Voldemort without opening his eyes, startling Luna.

'You're beautiful,' said Luna.

Voldemort tensed just slightly, a contracted wave of reaction that ended at his fingers but shuddered out of existence just as quickly. A scarlet gleam filled the air in front of his face as he awoke, eyelids opening with grace. The candles in the room had burned down to their holders, leaving it almost dark, making the deep red glow more pronounced. If Luna were Professor Trelawney, she'd have said that Voldemort had a pulsing red aura. However, she knew to hold her tongue about things like auras. She may be a prophetess as of late, but the least she could do was be a common-sense one.

'Do you prefer this new appearance of mine?' Voldemort asked. There was a tinge of amusement to his question and Luna thought she knew why.

'I don't prefer you any way,' she said. 'That is – um – it's different, but you're still you. It's in your eyes.'

'I see,' he said.

'Although,' and Luna tilted her head critically as she regarded him, 'now you look so normal it's almost more frightening, if that's what you want. You can definitely use this to your advantage. The undead look is sort of unfashionable.'

A small breath of laughter came from his lips. 'Unfashionable.'

'Yah. The white skin… it made you look fragile. You look healthy and strong now.'

'And I am,' Voldemort said. It seemed as though her words soothed him. He got to his feet, swiftly. 'I am strong, and I swear that Potter will pay for this. Horcruxes were not the only experiment I considered, you know.'

'Great,' Luna muttered.

'No, there are others… better things I can do to augment my power, ensure my immortality… I will not let him win… why can't he die already? Perhaps I should strike in another way… the girl, his great _love_, the Weasley girl…' Voldemort was talking to himself now, lost in his thoughts as he paced the room, twirling a short lock of hair with one finger as though it were a habit he'd once possessed in his younger years and just recently rediscovered. Luna was forgotten.

The plots that floated in half-phrases were none of them good news. Luna listened, feeling a little sick, as Voldemort contemplated capturing Ginny Weasley and using her as bait, then killing her in front of Harry Potter just to enrage him into making a mistake. Then he thought about distracting the Ministry by revealing the wizarding world to the Muggle world, wreaking havoc with the international laws and forcing the Order's hand. He wanted to go on the offensive, that was clear; a man such as Voldemort could not stomach the vulnerability of waiting.

Fortunately, Luna's mind was like a sponge, and she listened to his ramblings with open ears that recorded it all. Her memory did not fail her.

Voldemort sent her to rest in her own room that night. His final expression was cold and distant. The next morning he left on some vile errand or another, leaving Luna alone once again. She took the opportunity to find Snape and told the Potions Master that they needed to walk in the gardens. Snape scowled at her.

'He will get suspicious if you spend too much time with me,' Snape said. 'He's forever looking for plots.'

'He trusts me,' said Luna. 'There's no reason not to.'

'Is there not?' Snape asked sharply. 'If you have something to say to me, then say it before anyone starts to talk about how Luna Lovegood, former member of the Order of the Phoenix, keeps sweeping off to talk to the resident spy.'

'All right,' she said. She stopped at a fountain flowing with black-tinged water. The gush of the fountain would disguise their whispering voices, should anyone be eavesdropping. 'He made six Horcruxes. Five have been destroyed. He knows this, that his split pieces of soul have rejoined him because the artefacts were destroyed. It leaves just him. He's almost mortal. His appearance tells of it.'

'What does he look like?'

'You don't know?' Luna blinked at Snape. 'Haven't you seen him?'

'Not in several days. He's gone now with a company of Death Eaters. They're attacking the Ministry, striking at the Aurors. Random killing, as I understand it, just whittling down the troop numbers.'

'Oh,' said Luna. She thought about the Aurors she knew, good people like Kingsley Shacklebolt and funny people like Tonks. A quick little prayer darted up from her lips that they might stay safe and that Snape had warned them in time. She remembered it was too late for Tonks. Poor Professor Lupin, who was missing too.

'His appearance?' Snape prompted.

'Sorry,' said Luna. 'Yes. He looks completely human. He has hair and eyebrows and a normal face. But his eyes are still red.'

'Completely human. Mmm,' said Snape. 'But he's not.'

'No, there is one Horcrux left, according to him,' said Luna. 'He's… stronger. More capable, it feels like. He's not on the edge of dead anymore, he's full-blooded.'

'Every time they destroyed a Horcrux, that piece of soul rejoined him,' Snape said. 'I expect he'll make more Horcruxes, or take different measures altogether…He's been getting stronger, just as he gets weaker. So he's almost mortal…' the former professor's voice faded to a harsh whisper. 'That's what we were afraid of.'

'Who's we?' Luna asked. 'Who's still alive? Does the Order know that I'm here?' She did not know why she blurted out the questions, for they were things she'd contemplated but was afraid to ask. In the fog of war it was easy to feel forgotten, lost, cast aside.

Snape looked down at his toes in a peculiar gesture of embarrassment. 'You know I don't have much contact with the Order,' he said. 'My place in that inner circle is compromised and the Dark Lord believes me to be wholly within his command. My days of going back and forth are over. Thus my reports are sent out sporadically and only with the most important information.'

'The most important information…' Luna echoed. 'Not me.'

'I did not know what to say,' Snape said. 'I wasn't sure if you would want your friends knowing of your – position within the Dark Lord's ranks. It was too risky to tell them.'

Luna was stunned. She was dead to the Order. No one knew that she had survived her captivity thus far, not Ginny, not Harry… not her father. She had truly been absorbed by the fog, an ethereal creature with no place, remembered in the thoughts of her loved ones as a girl dead and lost. Snape must have had better things to tell the Order. It hurt, for she'd hoped that the others might come for her someday.

Luna rounded on Snape in a foreign burst of anger.

'You didn't tell them!? They think I'm dead? No wonder no one has come for me! What gives you the right to make a decision like that?'

'I risk my life passing information,' Snape hissed. 'I could not tell them you were alive, because if they gave away their knowledge of your survival, it would point straight to an informant in the Dark Lord's camp! Not everything is about you, Lovegood. We all make sacrifices in this war.'

'Sacrifices,' Luna whispered. 'Oh, yes. I've sacrificed everything I am and everything I was. And now I'm forced into _every kind_ of servitude without even the hope of escape.'

'That is not my fault,' Snape said. 'Perhaps it would have been better for you to fight back and be killed straight off. Then you wouldn't be pressing the burden of your guilty conscience onto me.'

'I'm not –' Luna began. But the weariness took hold of her and she thought perhaps a Dementor was swinging by overhead to suck out her energy. 'Never mind. It doesn't matter.'

'I suggest you cleanse your thoughts of this conversation, Miss Lovegood.' Snape averted his eyes and would not look at her. 'I don't think you fully appreciate the precariousness of my position.'

'Oh, I understand, Professor,' Luna said. 'You're afraid this Mark on my arm means something… That I'll betray you. That one day there will be a Killing Curse intended for you. Yes,' she said breathily, 'maybe I've learned something of Legilimency in my time here. Or maybe I'm just not as crazy and flighty as everyone seems to think.'

'I would never underestimate you,' Snape said. 'The fact that you're alive at all, and living in such close proximity to the Dark Lord, speaks measures about your resiliency.'

The compliment did not feel like one. It was more like an accusation. 'Your secret is safe with me,' Luna said in a near-whisper. Then she let her feet carry her across the garden path and back into the looming dark Riddle House. Her tears didn't hit the floor until she was halfway up the grand, black-carpeted staircase that would take her to her room.

Smiley and Yorkie were posted outside the door. They were always there. Once their function had been to keep Luna from escaping, but now they served more as bodyguards, for Luna still did not have her wand returned to her and it could be hazardous, working as the Dark Lord's prophetess. A few weeks ago, she had seen their faces for the first time: Smiley had a solid jaw and beady eyes; Yorkie had a thin face and a constant five o'clock shadow. They looked the same to her, with or without their masks. Their identities were in their eyes.

'Miss?' Smiley said from behind his skull mask. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes, thank you,' Luna said. Her voice sounded normal although her cheeks were streaked with delayed tears. She pushed open her door and closed it behind her, letting her conversation with Snape congeal into something manageable.

She knew why Snape had not told the Order about her. He couldn't risk his own neck for her. For all intents and purposes, Luna was a traitor: she'd taken the Dark Mark. She'd pleaded for her own life and won it, using her body as the means. She had taken up the post of Seer for Lord Voldemort and her dreams had warned him of setbacks. Luna wondered if there was a point where she would stop pretending to be Voldemort's creature and start _being_ it.

The warm, golden feeling of belonging to the good guys seemed like a far-away memory. But she had done what she had to do, no more, no less. A girl must be practical.

Luna saw that Nagini was coiled up on her bed, making a warm indentation in the bedcovers, which meant that Voldemort was not present in the house. On his dastardly outings he left Nagini safe at home. Before Luna came, it was unknown what Nagini did all day; likely she hunted mice or men. After Luna, the routine settled into one of friendly familiarity and Luna flopped down on her stomach next to Nagini, absently stroking her scales.

She thought about Lord Voldemort. All thoughts gravitated toward him sooner or later. Luna recalled everything she'd been through, the fading and new scars on her white skin, the Mark of darkness that would never go away. Her sanity was intact only because of her unique coping mechanism: of pretending to choose what she did, of acting the part, of keeping her 'true' little self locked away and safe. She wondered if that was how Voldemort himself coped, and if there was a 'true' little Tom Riddle locked inside of him, like a sprite in a metal cage.

Luna sat up on the bed, legs stretched in front of her. She sighed. So did Nagini. The serpent's tongue showed itself in a gesture of contentment.

'I wish you could tell me about when you were a human,' Luna said to Nagini. 'I'd love to hear about India. I've never been there, but my father has – research, you know. He was interviewing yogis and wizard monks about the true existence of the Garuda bird. Unfortunately, the Quibbler doesn't quite have the resources of the big newspapers, so we couldn't afford a foreign correspondent. I think Dad liked the trip, though.'

Nagini stared at Luna out of luminous, cold eyes and hissed once, getting her point across by wrapping around Luna's ankles and resting her big cobra head on Luna's lap.

Luna smiled and petted the snake with gentle fingers, just as Voldemort was prone to do. She had the odd thought that if she and the Dark Lord were a couple, Nagini was the child; in fact, the great snake had _been_ a human child in Nagaland before she took her oath to the Dark Arts. That was all according to the book on the Naga. 'What was your name before you were a snake?' Luna asked.

Nagini just looked back with expressionless eyes, but for some reason the name '_Lakshmi_' popped into Luna's head. Probably because it was the name of a goddess and her father used to tell her stories about gods and goddesses in far-away places. It was a nice name, in any case, and Luna repeated it aloud. 'Lakshmi,' she said. Nagini hissed again, which was about as close as Luna was going to get to an affirmative answer.

She went to sleep and had a nightmare about gnashing fangs that pushed through her thin flesh. Blood everywhere.

* * *

_January, the Wolf Moon

* * *

_

The top Death Eaters dined in the fine, elegant dining room of the Riddle House. They were dressed uniformly in black except for Luna, who defiantly wore dark purple. The eggplant-coloured robes looked bright next to the rest. Voldemort was absent, as was his lieutenant, the werewolf Fenrir Greyback. Voldemort's throne-like chair at the head of the table glared in its emptiness; the Dark Mark etched into its back had obsidian eyes that looked alive. The presence of the other followers meant that the battle at the Ministry, against the Aurors, was over; the lack of despondency amongst them suggested that Voldemort had succeeded. Luna wondered who had survived the attack and who had not.

The third course of the meal appeared on fine silver plates. 'What is this?' Luna asked, poking at her meal.

'Roasted Muggle baby,' said Bellatrix, stabbing a piece of meat with her fork and popping it in her mouth.

'Hmm,' said Luna. Slowly, cautiously, she took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. 'I didn't realise that babies tasted so much like ostrich.'

'How do you know what ostrich tastes like?' Bellatrix asked with a suspicious glint in her dark eye.

'Oh, Dad believed in exposing me to other cultures,' said Luna. 'During the summers we would try new recipes, and we decided to have a South African kind of thing one night… ostrich fillets flamed in brandy. It was lovely. I'm not much a carnivore, you know, but it tasted healthy. Just like this.' Luna waggled her eyebrows at Bellatrix.

The other woman stared at the display of friendliness. Bella was still guarded, but she shook her head, sending her short black hair into waves. 'You're barmy,' she said.

Luna laughed. 'That's what your cousin always said.' She meant Nymphadora Tonks.

'Which cousin?'

'Oh, the dead one you never acknowledged the existence of,' said Luna.

They ate in silence for a few moments. It was awkward for Bellatrix but comfortable for Luna. Around them, the men spoke in hushed whispers and murmurs, about the war and their activities. Once in awhile Luna would pick up the words '_He_,' '_the Dark Lord_,' and _'master_.' The Death Eaters were worried about their Lord. His physical transformation had not gone unnoticed. Most agreed that he was stronger, but a few of the more loyal, close-circle followers knew that Voldemort was in a terrible mood these days. His Cruciatus curses were more potent and filled with a kind of desperate anger. Prisoners from the other side rarely received quarter anymore.

'What are you to him?' Bellatrix whispered suddenly.

'What?' Luna replied, a little too loudly.

'Shhh.' Bellatrix glanced around and turned her head in a manner of conspiracy. 'What are you? His lover? His what?'

'Oh,' said Luna. She copied Bellatrix's low tone. 'I am currently serving as the Dark Lord's Seer.' She was reluctant and somehow embarrassed to talk about her other nightly activities with Voldemort, and a warning bell inside her head told her that Bellatrix would be jealous, anyway. 'You see, Mrs. Lestrange – or can I call you Bellatrix? It's such a perfect name for you, you know – I always did these Seer Stretches invented by Lazarus Temple. They really work.'

'Seer Stretches.'

'Mmm. My father interviewed Mr. Temple for the Quibbler, some years ago, but they work. I can teach you, if you want.' Because Luna was still alive, and in the position she'd anticipated as a trusted servant of Voldemort, her belief in the inherent goodness of the universe was shaken but unbroken. If Luna taught Bellatrix how to See, it would inadvertently open the woman up to the true nature of things. A Seer could only work in light, because darkness was illusion.

'You can't teach the Sight,' Bellatrix scoffed. 'It's something you're born with, you silly girl.'

'No, it's really not!' Luna protested. 'At least, I don't think it is. I never had precognitions until I started doing the stretches.'

'Really?' Bellatrix's voice was raspy with disapproval of her own intrigue.

'Really. We can have lessons. Starting tomorrow?'

'I don't think our Master would approve of it,' Bellatrix said.

Luna saw what Bellatrix needed to be convinced. She was using every trick to get out of learning Seer Stretches because she hated herself for wanting to know. 'Oh, he wouldn't disapprove,' Luna reassured. 'In fact, he wants his Death Eaters to learn new abilities. Trust me.'

'Fine,' Bellatrix snapped. 'Five in the afternoon tomorrow. In the library.' And she turned away to focus on her meal of 'Muggle baby.'

A little smile played across Luna's lips.

It never occurred to Luna that Bellatrix wanted to learn the Sight to usurp Luna's own position in the Dark Lord's dubious affections. Luna had too much faith in her plans and ideas. So the next afternoon, Luna in a long flimsy white gown (to remind Bellatrix of the light) showed up in the majestic, dark library of the Riddle House.

It had been magically expanded to accommodate the many tomes of Dark Arts knowledge and magical history. Luna was always surprised at Voldemort's knowledge and interest in history, for she'd always thought that to be ignorant of the past was to be doomed to repeat it. However, Voldemort knew more about the history of magic than anyone she'd ever met. He must have paid attention in Professor Binns' class. Yet Voldemort made the same mistakes that all Dark Lords had ever made, leading Luna to believe that one part of his mind was rational and sane and clever, and the other part was so consumed with black rage and bitterness that he forgot he was subject to the unwritten laws of history, too.

Bellatrix was already in the library, standing with her wand brandished, staring out the window. Her short black hair looked longer by the day, leading Luna to believe that she was using a Hair Re-growth potion. With an inner giggle, Luna saw that Bellatrix was following the recommendation of big earrings; dangling from her lobes were polished white bone chandeliers that glittered in the dim daylight.

'Ready?' Luna chirped.

A simple nod from Bellatrix confirmed it.

'We'll need a bit of space,' Luna said. 'Err...' she did not have her wand and so could not move furniture. 'Could you levitate some of these chairs out of the way?'

'_Wingardium Leviosa,'_ Bellatrix muttered under her breath. She flicked her wand casually and a grouping of three large armchairs hovered away to rest next to a bookshelf in the wall.

'Thanks.' Luna walked into the middle of the space and held her arms out. 'I'll show you. It's a lot like yoga.'

'Yoga,' Bellatrix said. 'For Merlin's sake. I can't believe I'm doing this.' She had a fiery glow inside her eyes, a yearning for knowledge in spite of herself, and Luna could almost see the machinations of power that Bellatrix was concocting. There was no doubt that the Sight could be very useful in battle and a tiny pinprick of guilt was quickly suppressed as Luna was making a Death Eater stronger.

'First take a deep breath, using the diaphragm muscle,' said Luna. She breathed in deeply; Bellatrix, looking mutinous, did the same. 'Now put your fingers in this position.' She demonstrated, putting her first and middle fingers against her thumb, to create what looked like an eye. 'It activates the prana.'

Luna led the way through several more moves: bending over to touch the toes, breathing in through one nostril and out through another, and moving the head around. 'Do you feel a tingling in your forehead?' Luna asked.

'A little bit,' said Bellatrix. The Death Eater got more subdued as the lesson went on.

'Good! That means your third eye is awakening.'

They were in the middle of the final stretch, a 'bridge' on hands and toes, when there was a shout from the hallway. Bellatrix was up in a snap, her wand brandished out of her black robes. 'What's this?' she snarled as two Death Eaters poked their heads into the library.

'Battle in the woods,' said one of them. It sounded like an older man, perhaps Mr. Nott. 'The Order is here.'

Bellatrix swore. 'Fix this,' she said to Luna, waving a hand at the mis-arranged furniture. Then she was off at a run out the door.

Luna sighed. With the force of her muscles she moved the armchairs back into place and brushed her hair out of her eyes. The house around her was silent with portent. Luna looked out the window and saw nothing but a long hilly field and then the woods. Wan sunlight made a last effort to peek above the trees, but it sank inexorably as though drowning. There was no sign of a magical battle going on; no figures scattered or ran or twirled in combat. Was the Order nearby? Should she run for it? She was swamped with indecision. Dare she? _Could _she?

Her head poked outside the door of the library. No-one was in the hall. Luna pursed her lips and considered the possibilities. She could go up to her room and wait. She could stay in the library and wait. Or she could try to find a wand, or a weapon, or simply run out of the house and rejoin her fellow Order members. In the few minutes that her grey eyes glittered across unseen furniture and unimportant floorboards, Luna thought about her father.

Her father. She would run for it. It was a shining chance.

She had flat shoes on. She was glad for that, as her feet carried her soft and swift down the hall and she threw open the finely carved door that opened onto the house's stone terrace. The terrace where Dark revels were held. The terrace with the bloodstained stone altar. As she drew closer to the woods that encroached upon the grass, she thought there were signs of battle; a flash here, an echo of a shout there. Above the trees a jet of red light spurted into the sky.

When she ran into twigs and branches and brambles, Luna stopped, breathing heavily. Where should she go next? She had nothing on her but her white dress and her beaded shoes. No wand. And the pale dress did not conceal her in the trees, but rather made her stand out like a bright little unicorn amongst sticks and stones. 'Oh,' she said. She clutched her side; she had a stitch. Once she'd been fit and combat-ready, but months of confinement had affected her ability to run. Although, she mused, she was certainly more flexible now…

Somewhere nearby, a tree made a crashing sound, rousing Luna to action. She plunged into the bracken undergrowth, using her hands to make her way easier, and getting little thorns and scratches on the skin. It did not matter. Soon she would be in the hands of light again.

She ignored the uncomfortable pinching, tugging feeling in the centre of her chest where her heart expanded and contracted in its seventy beats per minute. The heart that told her to go back. The heart that told her she was needed in the Dark Lord's headquarters, that she was peeling through the layers of darkness to find something precious… that she was close. Voldemort was human, the voice reminded her. His soul was rejoining itself. That meant more than desire…it meant emotion…

'Shhh,' Luna said aloud to herself. 'Just be quiet now. Time to go, off on a merry way…'

Above her head, the trees swayed and groaned in the slight breeze. The winter sun had set, but a few scattered wispy cold clouds held the light to reflect back down and illuminate her way through the trees. It was sunset, and Luna, true to her namesake, knew what it meant. The January moon was rising behind her, then, above the twin chimneys and fine slate roofline of the house of Riddles.

For a moment, a fog of grey invaded her sight, whether real or imagined she never knew. But it was appropriate.

Luna wished for her wand, to say a 'Lumos' charm, to find her way. To summon Abacus, perhaps, and at that she glanced up to see if the Thestral really was circling the air above Voldemort's headquarters, or if he'd given up and gone back to Hyde Park. To Luna's disappointment there was no whisper of leather wings. She went onwards through the forest. It was when the brambles thinned out and the trees soared up, free of distraction, from a soft bed of needles that Luna caught her first glimpse of fear.

She hit the wards first; it was like running into an invisible brick wall that threw her back from a slightly shimmering space in front of her. Rubbing her head, she looked along the line in the forest and saw that there was a barrier there, a boundary impenetrable.

Normally such wards could be walked through from the inside out. But Luna knew that Voldemort did not take chances; he must have anticipated the possibility of her running away. He'd cast the wards so that she (and likely any other prisoner) could not leave. They were keyed to her magic and recognised that Luna Lovegood, the Dark Lord's Seer, was not authorised to go past.

It was too bad. Luna put her hands up against the barrier, pale and white like a mime, feeling out the thing that prevented her reunion with her friends. She peered into the dark forest, now able to see through distant gaps in the trees. A flash of red. Of blue. Of green. She heard a scream, an extended shout, what sounded like a curse. Her fingers itched along the invisible wall, longing for involvement.

She let her hands drop to her sides. If she just waited, then the winner of the battle might find her and retrieve her. Yet behind her, there was a noise: the snap of a twig. A heavy breathing. There was something not quite human about it.

Luna spun around. 'Hello?' she called. 'Who's there?'

A snarl returned her question. When the thin rays of full moonlight came through the trees, Luna understood.

The figure was crouched over in the shadow of a nearby bush. A small bead of drool fell from its mouth, glinting moonlight, hanging for a terrible moment, and Luna could see the outline of a fang above it. It made a sound as if its nose were plugged up. A ripping, unforgiving, animal sound. It smacked its jaw once.

'Please don't,' said Luna. 'Don't you know who I am?' She hated herself as she said it, but it might be her only chance. 'I belong to the Dark Lord. He doesn't like his things to be touched by others. Don't you know?'

The creature answered with another snarl. It moved and in the dim cold light of the full moon, Luna could see the werewolf with her wide-open eyes. There was something familiar about the tilt of its head. Perhaps she had dreamt about it, but Luna could not remember the vague imaginings of dreams when confronted with a drooling, hungry creature of the dark.

An unintelligible growl came from the werewolf. As though it were trying to be human and failing utterly. It was a noise of longing, of pain, of rage, of a thirst for human blood. There was some control in the way it sat on its canine haunches, but no control in the way it looked at Luna.

The werewolf sprang at her and she knew what must happen.


	14. Former Allies

**Author's Notes: **Wow, so many reviews for last chapter! My thanks to: _Squiggles.Candi, Kar, Barranca, TheAngelOfSilence, SarahColdheart, ravenfeather42, wildandclear, SailorHecate, Lrnd, Twighunter, BellonaBellatrix, selenoliber, Alseid, Xinoria, LemoN-X-DroP, Alya Riddle, _and _nat._

The scene continues in this chapter…it's not a _deus ex machina_. It's just Lord Voldemort. (P.S. you're reading my mind, _ravenfeather42_! I wrote this author's note ages ago, and then you mentioned the friendly author's d.e.m. in your review… heehee)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Recap from Chapter 13:

_An unintelligible growl came from the werewolf. As though it were trying to be human and failing utterly. It was a noise of longing, of pain, of rage, of a thirst for human blood. There was some control in the way it sat on its canine haunches, but no control in the way it looked at Luna. _

_The werewolf sprang at her and she knew what must happen.

* * *

_

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Former Allies**

When she was at Hogwarts, one of Luna's best classes was Defense Against the Dark Arts (it came right after Care of Magical Creatures and Astronomy on her list of favourites, of course). Ever since her first year, when the school was wracked with rumours and worries about Slytherin's monster loose in the halls (it was), Luna had decided that she needed to be good at Defense. It may have been the loose kind of premonition that told of a future need, or perhaps it was because of her mother and the way she died.

Mrs. Lovegood, whom everyone called Kitty, had been experimenting with a Dark Arts spell when she died. It was something that Mr. Lovegood had not told the Ministry when they showed up to investigate and console. Of course, Kitty Lovegood's spell had not been something _bad_, per se. It was just banned. And it had been Luna that found her in the last stages of the spell.

'Oh, love, Mummy's busy now!' Kitty had said, smiling her sweet smile over her shoulder and winking at nine-year-old Luna, who stood in the doorway with fascination written on her face.

'What are you doing, Mummy?' Luna had asked.

'Just a little spell,' said Kitty. 'Trying to talk to Grandmother. You don't remember Grandmother, she died when you were two. I'm going to take a little trip over to the Other Side, but I'll be back. I'll be safe.' While she spoke, Kitty did strange whirlpool-like motions with her wand. A glowing white bowl of light grew up around her, as though she were a cake being frosted, standing there with luminous, excited eyes.

Luna was excited too. She was often allowed to watch her mother working, but nothing like this had ever happened before. With legs crossed she sat on the floor and smiled.

With a series of incantations, Kitty finished her white shield of light, and then Luna watched in further amazement as there were _two_ of her mother standing in the middle of the workshop. One was a solid-flesh Mummy, and the other was a translucent, glowing-white Mummy who winked again at the little girl sitting on the floor.

Kitty moved her mouth as though having a conversation with someone Luna couldn't see. Through a series of expressions it went; politeness, interest, laughter, astonishment. Then, finally, a tinge of worry showed itself on Kitty's translucent ghost face. Kitty-the-ghost turned back to look at her solid body, standing there as though propped up by a string, wand resting in the cooling fingers.

Luna saw several things out of the ordinary. For one, there was a thin silver cord coming out of the navel of her mother's solid body that attached it to the ethereal body standing several feet away. She saw tears in both sets of eyes: tears seeping out from under still lashes. Tears running from open eyes that were clear to the shelves on the other side. It was then that Luna knew something was wrong, for her mother never cried, but was instead joyful and playful and everything-full.

'Mummy?'

It all happened very fast. The white-light cake shield that protected Kitty's corporeal body started to unravel from the top, fast and whiplike, making no sound, but there was a peculiar rushing in Luna's ears as though something was racing at her through the wind. Without knowing it Luna scrambled up from the floor. She thought there was something to do to help her mother, who looked very troubled indeed.

When the tornado of white reached the thin, fragile silver cord that connected Kitty to her body, the cord dissolved in a wavy motion like a snake shedding its skin. The body (her _mother's_ body) lost its stiffness and crumpled down to the floor with a thump as it hit the boards. It lay there, looking far less alive than it had before, and it hit Luna that her mother was dead… but how could that be? Her very spirit was still there, looking down with sadness and love and regret for things undone and unseen.

Kitty mouthed something to Luna. It was a sight that remained forever afterwards, a silent plea, a silent reassurance. 'I'll be all right,' Kitty's lips moved. 'Don't worry. I love you.'

'I love you too, Mummy,' was all Luna could think to say. She'd been raised to always tell people she loved them, if she did. Then Mrs. Kitty Lovegood dissolved in a wash of further white light, a tide that carried her away somewhere else, a journey from which she would not return. Luna waved at her mother as she went.

When Mr. Lovegood came home from an interview he'd been conducting for the _Quibbler_, something on the hidden history of the Ministry's Goblin-Relations Department, he found his daughter kneeling on floor of his wife's workshop. Little Luna held her mother's hand and was whispering something. 'Come back,' she said. 'Please, Mummy. We need you.' Luna's eyes were dry as she said it, but bright with some unnamed child's emotion as she looked up at her father.

'Kitty?' Mr. Lovegood whispered, horror-struck. 'Kitty! Oh, God, no, please…'

Later, Luna learned that it had been the Necromancy Spell. Talking to the dead. Raising the dead. But, because of the mistake, Kitty Lovegood had become what she sought.

* * *

It was her mother that Luna thought of as the space in front of her filled with fangs and teeth and snarls and fur.

As it came at her through the air, death on the rays of the moon, she thought her name was befitting it. The smallest breath of a sigh came from her lips because she, like her mother before her, had the last wish for a wand. A tool to change her fate.

Death was not something to avoid. Luna knew this in the split-second before the fangs and claws plunged into her white flesh, because she had seen her mother die and she had seen her mother live on after death. The spirit would depart, leaving the body as a mauled husk of reminder, but she, Luna, would go find her mother. A strange twist of anticipation flared inside Luna's breast that she could leave it all behind.

The anticipation, however, was tempered by an icy fear. This was going to _hurt_, she realised. No stranger to pain was Luna, but it was different with Voldemort. He was expected.

'Oh, my Lord,' she whispered. She closed her eyes.

Something whipped past her face like a hot flame. Then it surrounded her, a cocoon of hot molten air, and there was a great bright light beyond her eyelids. Was it a claw? Was it her own blood boiling out of her skin? Or was the pain so great that it had turned into warmth? She opened her eyes again, confused as to why she was still standing.

The werewolf was back on all fours, growling at something behind Luna. The wolf pawed at the air in front of her but, Luna realised, the creature could not get at her; she was in the middle of an advanced Protego charm. Someone was protecting her.

She knew it was him as she turned. The Dark Lord stood in the woods, cloaked all in black, a hood concealing his face… but Luna recognised his wand resting in his abnormally-long fingers, gloved in black leather. Voldemort stepped across the wards without a glance and leaned down to whisper something at the werewolf, who was remarkably cowed. Luna felt like she was in a cage of fire as she held her hands clasped in front of her, trying to remain calm like Voldemort was.

There was something oh-so-familiar about the wolf, his markings, the grey hair along his back (and it was a _he_, she noticed), the luminous softness of eyes in a non-human face. The realisation hit her then, this was not Greyback, no, this creature was –

Her thoughts were interrupted by Voldemort's voice.

'She's gone,' she heard Voldemort say to the werewolf. Voice of persuasion, irresistible. 'Your woman is gone now. There's nothing for you in this world but prey. Go and hunt with my permission. Go.'

Voldemort stood up as the werewolf snarled and sprang forth, past Luna and into the woods, toward the raging battle. They were alone for the time being. Voldemort released the protection charm and Luna felt a thrill of fear again, for although he had saved her life, she'd obviously been trying to escape him. To betray him. Her grand plan might be compromised completely; all those months of trying to earn his trust! When she felt her body free of the Protego spell, she was torn by an urge to throw her arms around him in thanks for the rescue, but she held back because she did not like the way he stood tall and straight and unforgiving before her.

'My Lord,' Luna knelt down. Placating. 'Master, thank you…'

'Hush,' said his voice, soft and dangerous. 'I'll deal with you later. Go back to the house.'

'I wanted to know what was happening,' Luna said, defying him for a moment, looking up with frank and curious eyes into the dark shadowed place where his face lurked. 'I saw lights.' It was a lie. But she thought he might believe her, because that was just the sort of nonsensical thing Luna Lovegood would do. And Voldemort did not like to second-guess his own judgment… he would want to believe the best of her. 'And I had a premonition… I had to tell you about something.'

He stood silent, waiting.

Luna's heart pounded madly. She needed a vision, and right now. She closed her eyes and willed herself to See... The fear, the adrenaline, gave her a floating feeling and she followed it to its logical conclusion. Feeling much like Professor Trelawney, she gave her voice a misty quality and said, 'Victory comes on the moon's creatures, if you bring them behind the enemy. Strike from behind and your battle is won.' She opened her eyes again, praying that it was good enough for Voldemort, realising that she might have given him a key.

'Go,' he said to her, just as he'd spoken to the werewolf. She went.

With a glance behind her, Luna saw Voldemort disappear into the trees, walking in no great hurry back toward the place where curses flashed amongst old trees. She hummed 'Auld Lang Syne' to herself. It was January, after all, and cold like a new year was supposed to be. She shivered. Nothing accosted her as she poked her way back through the woods; when she emerged safe onto the lawn behind the Riddle House she saw a company of Death Eaters coming out of the forest about a hundred metres away.

They floated some bodies along with them, bodies wearing red robes. Members of the Order of the Phoenix. Luna could not see whether they were dead or just Stunned; in either case it was not good news. She looked down at her feet instead, once-pretty beaded shoes that were now ruined by the dirt and leaves. Too bad.

On her way into the headquarters she gave a sidelong glance at the group of fighters. Several were suffering from hexes and jinxes; a Death Eater's eruption of boils was visible beneath the mask and another had somewhat shaky legs. Luna wondered why the Order didn't just give them the Killing Curse instead of wasting time with hexes. Like with like. If it were the now-dead Mad-Eye Moody, the Unforgivables would be thrown around, but perhaps the others tended to hesitate.

Luna would have advised them otherwise. This war was beyond nasty and beyond moral qualms.

The attack by the Order of the Phoenix was repelled. Luna learned of it from the house-elves, who had their own odd ways of knowing the news. Of course, she could have gathered a Death Eater victory because no red-robed saviours came tearing through the house, looking for Luna. They wouldn't look for her, because to them she was dead. She was relegated to shadows. She wondered if her impromptu vision had been followed by Voldemort, after all, resulting in his victory.

At dawn, a cheer rose up and reverberated through the boards and plaster and magic of the house. Luna, in her room, shuddered. The celebration was followed with a deep, sinister chanting of the Dark, a hail to Lord Voldemort, a jack-booted marching on the floor. Luna bet that the Death Eaters were gathering in the big round dungeon room. They would want to gloat and revel. For amusement there might be Muggles, or worse, Order members.

A long-dormant sense of duty awakened in Luna just then. She should go down and see what she could do. There was no restraint she could place on Voldemort, but she might know for herself how far the victory had gone. Finding solace as ever in the appearance of insanity, she opened her wardrobe and chose a pale lavender set of robes with blood-red runes embroidered around the edges. It was a combination that should not have suited Luna, but did. She wore citrines around her neck to give her willpower.

Her Dark Mark burned. Voldemort wanted her, then, just as she'd anticipated. There was no need for guessing where the ranks were gathered. Luna simply followed the noise down three flights of progressively dismal stairs into the dungeons. Smiley and Yorkie flanked her as usual. The scene that awaited her was in no way a comfort.

A row of prisoners crouched, bound and hooded, on the floor. Most of their robes were tattered and torn; all wore red. There were some darker stains on the bright material that indicated blood. From the back Luna could not tell who was who, but for one head of wild brown curls that must belong to Hermione Granger. 'Oh, poor Harry,' Luna whispered, so beneath her breath that even she could not hear herself speak. She stepped forward through the heaving circle of Death Eaters and caught Voldemort's eye.

He sat, decadent and wicked upon his throne, an expression of triumph on his face. His red gaze glittered merrily over the crowd, a perversion of happiness held within those orbs, a deep satisfaction with the power he wielded. The joy in his face flickered momentarily when he saw Luna standing out in the crowd of black, but he beckoned with one careless finger for her to come forward. In the noise of celebration, no one noticed.

'What in the name of Merlin possessed you to leave the house?' he whispered to her, his cruel outward smile not faltering. 'There are other ways of communicating with me.'

'I was curious,' she said. 'No one told me there was a battle.' That was not a lie; the Death Eaters had told Bellatrix, but not Luna. 'If I'd known there was danger, I would never have risked myself, even for the sake of a vision. I am your Seer, my Lord, and I hold that position in honour. I am in your debt and I accept whatever – punishment –' she filled the word with breathlessness, 'you choose to bestow on me.'

It was almost fun, thought Luna, making up little stories like this. Stories to contradict her reality.

'I'll think of something appropriate,' said Voldemort, regarding her for one moment longer before returning his attention to the business at hand. Luna was free to watch as the Order members were verbally abused and taunted by the Death Eaters, who awaited their Lord's orders as to what to do with their captured prizes.

Bellatrix, in the midst of it all, laughed with glee and hung on to the arm of her slight husband Rodolphus. 'Let me play, my Lord,' she called gaily. 'Please?'

'Later, Bella,' said Voldemort indulgently. 'Rodolphus, control your wife.' There was laughter.

Because moon-rise had become moon-set, the werewolves staggered into the chamber, on two legs now instead of four. They were covered in blood; it had been a night not for turning, but for feasting on human flesh. Fenrir Greyback strode forward with a bestial grin, his muscles unbroken by the strain of transformation. Luna shivered to look at him. There were other werewolves, too, but it was the hobbling one in the back that made Luna gasp out loud, although not with total surprise.

Remus Lupin.

The way he walked, eyes half-closed with despair, head tilted at an angle… of course, Lupin had been the werewolf that had almost attacked her. Voldemort had turned him. She could see the black outline of the Dark Mark on Lupin's forearm, in relief against the rivulets of blood and mud that coursed down his savaged skin. Lupin raised his eyes and saw Luna; he was sad but not surprised to see her. It had been him. Her old professor might have killed her that night, had it not been for the Dark Lord… Luna swallowed heavily.

'Lupin,' said Voldemort coolly. 'Come forward. Bow before me and show your former colleagues where your loyalties lie.'

Lupin did, kneeling down, kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes. Luna saw his face and she felt sorry for him. His very bones seemed to creak with despair. Lupin stepped away, clutching his arm where the Mark was burned, and retreated into the crowd. _The death of Tonks,_ Luna reflected. _After that, he had nothing to live for_. _The darkness is easier_. She could understand that, sympathise with it, even.

She bit her own tongue several times as she watched the Death Eaters 'play' with their prisoners. The masks helped them lose their identity and be absorbed into the darkness. The masks let them sodomise young Colin Creevey (oh, dear sweet Merlin, in Luna's year at Hogwarts, he was so young and so kind) and administer all manner of horrendous hexes on the prisoners and subject a screaming Hermione Granger to the electric-shock curse until her hair was three times its usual size.

That was Bellatrix's idea, who was still put-out about her own shorn locks. It was Snape, of course, who stepped forward to put a momentary pause in the fun. He approached Voldemort's throne, bowing deeply, and with the Dark Lord's permission he leaned forward and whispered something Luna didn't catch. It was too noisy in the hall.

Voldemort's laugh echoed above the heads of his Death Eaters. 'Desist for a moment,' he said, his voice merry. 'I wish to address one of the prisoners. Hermione Granger.'

The pale girl was shoved forward so that Voldemort could see her. Luna bit her lip. Dread blossomed within her; she did not know if she could handle the sight of Hermione's death.

Hermione noticed Luna, kneeling at Voldemort's left side, and stared at her unabashedly. There was astonishment and judgment. Hermione flicked her gaze down to see the Dark Mark hovering and writhing black on Luna's forearm. With the wish of Legilimency (perhaps Hermione had learned it), Luna regarded her former comrade with directness. She wanted to convey that there was more than met the eye; she was more than Voldemort's simple follower. There was hope yet.

But Hermione turned away, disgust upon her face, and composed herself to face Lord Voldemort.

A sharp stinging of rejection plucked at the strings behind Luna's eyeballs. Hermione was always one to judge too quickly. Now it might cost her an ally, should she even survive past this gathering.

'Well, well,' Voldemort purred. 'The infamous Miss Granger. The brains behind Potter's little band of rabble. How do you suppose he'll get on now?'

Hermione said nothing but stared in half-horror, half-defiance. Luna did not see there was much in Voldemort's appearance to be repelled by; he was inhuman, yes, but beautiful. Then again, Luna's standards were peripheral to those of normal society.

Quick as a snake Voldemort struck out. He grabbed Hermione by her shoulders and pushed her onto her knees. Reminded of her initial meetings with the Dark Lord, Luna stayed calm and rational as she watched the proceedings. Voldemort's wand was out. He spoke an incantation, the Choking Curse, and Hermione sputtered and gasped and turned purple. The Death Eaters spread in a crowd below them watched with enjoyment as their Lord administered the torture. Perversely, someone in the back decided to play a bone flute, a dark and trilling tune that fit the mood. A musical accompaniment to terror.

'It was your idea, wasn't it?' Voldemort said in a voice so quiet that Luna was sure she was the only one, other than Hermione, who could hear it. 'You helped Potter find the _artefacts_. You helped him disarm the enchantments. You researched the methods of destroying them. Don't attempt to lie to me, girl.'

'I w-would never,' Hermione choked out. 'I – I'm proud of what-t I did. _W-we_ did.'

'Bad move,' muttered Luna.

Rage worked across Voldemort's face, the tightly-controlled rage that he channeled into the Cruciatus Curse that had Hermione screaming and holding her head at his feet as tears streamed down her cheeks. The Death Eaters cheered. Luna watched impassively. Nothing on her face betrayed her inner despair at seeing her once-colleague, nay friend, in such a state. If it had been Neville or Ginny, Luna knew she would never have borne it as well as she did.

Voldemort held the curse for so long that Luna wondered if he was taking a page out of Bellatrix's book and attempting to torture into insanity. Time suspended within the Cruciatus Curse, as Luna well knew herself, but there was only so much that the pain-nerves in the brain could take before they all just misfired. It would make a certain kind of sense, to send Potter's 'brains' back to him with no brains at all. A shadowed vegetable-Hermione.

The screams started to wear on Luna's nerves.

'Will no one speak for her?' Voldemort said, laughing again now.

Everyone stared when Severus Snape stepped forward. 'My Lord,' he said, bowing. His Death Eater mask was in one hand and his wand in the other. 'We should indeed _break_ the girl, for whom Potter cares so _dearly._'

'Is that not what I'm doing?' Voldemort said. Hermione's screams confirmed it. The way he could so casually inflict torture whilst holding a conversation was unnerving. It was like when Luna could write and talk at the same time. 'Will this not break the girl?' Voldemort asked.

'I had something else in mind,' said Snape, colouring slightly. Behind him, Bellatrix snickered.

'Ah,' said Voldemort. 'That kind of arrangement.' He paused. 'Really?' To the mercy of Luna's ears, he released Hermione from the Cruciatus and Hermione lay unmoving and tear-streaked on the stone dais.

Snape shrugged. 'She is young, my Lord, and I believe her mind is pliable. If you allow me to… exercise myself… I might extract valuable information.'

'Hmm,' said Voldemort. He sounded disappointed to give up the fun of mudblood torture (for Luna knew it was a form of self-torture for his own blood status, deep inside his magic) but reason won out in the case of Hermione Granger. 'Very well,' he said. 'Take her. And if you do any less than what I expect, I will kill her myself. _Ennervate!_' A white healing light issued forth from its incongruous source and revived Hermione enough for her to sit up, blinking and shaking.

'Y-you,' she gasped, still defiant of Voldemort. At a distance from Hermione's situation, Luna could admire the reaction, though she did think her own solution of a butterfly shield was a more creative idea.

'You are fortunate,' said Voldemort sardonically to Hermione. 'Your ex-professor wants you. Get up.' Knowing she lacked the immediate strength, he levitated her with the motion of a hand and sent her flying through the air toward Snape.

With great interest Luna watched the interaction. Snape placed a steadying hand on Hermione's back; Hermione looked at Snape with familiarity. _She's the contact in the Order_, thought Luna. Hermione Granger was who Snape talked to when he had information to impart; it was obvious. Luna wondered what would become of Hermione now that she was in custody, and whether Snape would take off with her, and redeem himself in the eyes of the rest of the world. Could two ruthless, intelligent people find happiness with each other?

The question hit a little too close to home and Luna turned her jaw away from the scene of Hermione Granger's captivity.

'That will be an interesting encounter,' Luna remarked to Voldemort. She was rewarded with a small scoff of amusement.

As the revel went on, darker, louder, insanity growing into a beast controllable only by Voldemort, Luna stayed those few stone steps above it all. Her focus narrowed to her fingernails and their glossy red polish; her toes wiggling within fine leather shoes; the smooth weave of her dress. Her ears hurt. Next to her, Voldemort hummed a perverse little tune and took in the scene of his making with still-delighted eyes. How anyone could be so entertained by power was beyond Luna's understanding.

Bellatrix, flushed with exertion and pleasure, sauntered up to bow to the Dark Lord. Small short strands of raven hair were plastered to her skin. 'My Lord,' she said in her raspy voice. 'We thank you for this opportunity.'

'So formal, Bella?' Voldemort asked. 'You _must_ be having a good time.'

Bellatrix grinned but it did nothing for her beauty. Seeing Luna on the stone floor, Bellatrix shot her an odd glance. 'You made it, then,' Bella commented. 'Good for you.'

Luna could not tell if it was compliment or sarcasm. She tilted her head in response and gave a wry little smile. However, Bellatrix's presence reminded her of something.

'My Lord,' she said to Voldemort, when Bellatrix had retreated back into the melee.

'Yes?'

'I've been thinking. Tonight's incident with… me… and the werewolf… well, it wouldn't have happened if I had my wand. I'd serve you better if I had it,' Luna rushed before Voldemort could deny the request. 'I would be able to protect myself. The wards won't let me leave the grounds, not that I want to anyway, but really I think my Seeing abilities would be better served if I could walk about the garden and not feel unsafe. Your followers sometimes serve their own interests better than yours, my Lord, they need to know that your Seer is not be trifled with.' Luna thought of Bellatrix.

'Mmm,' said Voldemort noncommittally.

'You have no reason to do it… other than trust in me,' said Luna. 'And you know you can. Trust me, I mean.' She prayed that Voldemort's good mood would make him magnanimous with her.

He gave her a sidelong glance. Appearing to deliberate for a moment, he looked into Luna's pale eyes and she knew he was assessing her sincerity, feeling out the genuine worries she held about her place in his ranks. She allowed her mind to give way as _his_ mind pushed forward. 'Fine,' he said. 'Your wand will be returned to you.'

It was enough of a triumph that Luna did not notice the atrocities before her eyes. As usual, she floated away to another time and place: a time in the future when she had her wand back, a place where she did not need to use it.


	15. Mind and Body

**Author's Notes: **Thank you, reviewers! _Selenoliber, SailorHecate, moonlights desire, Barranca, jka1, Pandora, TheAngelOfSilence, foeldesilajos, Vasilisa23, Lrnd, wildandclear,_ and _ravenfeather42._

In this chapter we discover what's inside the mysterious cabinet in Voldemort's bedroom.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

From Chapter 14: 

…_He looked into Luna's pale eyes and she knew he was assessing her sincerity, feeling out the genuine worries she held about her place in his ranks. 'Fine,' he said. 'Your wand will be returned to you.'_

_It was enough of a triumph that Luna did not notice the atrocities before her eyes. As usual, she floated away to another time and place: a time in the future when she had her wand back, a place where she did not need to use it.

* * *

_

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Mind and Body**

Back in Voldemort's quarters, Luna watched, fascinated, as he opened the large black polished cabinet that had remained closed for the entirety of her captivity there. She'd never discovered what was inside it, though she'd asked Voldemort a few times, receiving only reticence for her troubles. She held her breath, curiosity overriding anxiety. His good mood had held; victory had cemented his ego, and he had not questioned Luna further about her foray into the woods. _Overconfident_, she thought, but she kept her opinion to herself.

As the heavy carved door swung open, a dim green light glowed from within. It backlit Voldemort's thin strong frame to make him like a dark man-shaped hole in time and space.

The cabinet was fully open. Inside it dangled hundreds of wands, a macabre display of victory, the tally of death. There were too many to count. They made hollow wooden noises as Voldemort ran his fingers along their ranks. Piano keys of defeat, made to be played by him alone. Trophies.

With deftness he plucked one out. 'This is yours.'

Luna nodded. In the capable hand of the Dark Lord her own wand rested, looking as it always had, cool and smooth. Rowan wood, nine inches, with a core of unicorn hair. Light and original, just like Luna herself; in the handle, the wood had a funny twist of the grain that looked like a pentagram. When she took it from Voldemort their fingers brushed and it seemed like a flirtation.

It was an effort to keep from trembling in delight to have her wand back. It fit into her palm and she grasped it, old familiar friend that it was. She tucked it behind her ear. 'Right, then,' she said. And then remembered. 'Thank you, my Lord.'

A tiny smile flickered through Voldemort's glowing red eyes. It made him more handsome. Still his human face was not quite right, with those eyes, but it was far from objectionable.

With a small swish and flick, Luna used her wand to summon a pillow from the bed, just to prove that she could. The pillow flew across and into her outstretched arm. 'It works,' she said.

'So it would seem,' said Voldemort, eyeing her.

A smile curved Luna's pale lips.

* * *

Luna's brush with death had reawakened her prophetic abilities and the new month was ushered in by a series of dreams about Voldemort's health; she predicted that he would suffer a bout of bronchitis and indeed a few days later he developed a cough. He did a fair bit of private complaining about the fragility of his 'human' body and Luna pointed out that if he wanted release from the everyday trials and complaints of mortal existence, he should have died like a normal person. The comment earned her a glare because she was right. 

As Luna sat, lounged across a conjured divan in Voldemort's sparse upstairs throne room, she watched the Healer putter through a box of potions for the bronchitis cure. Theo Nott sat in the corner, transcribing the Dark Lord's weekly schedule. Nagini napped by the fire. Bellatrix and Rodolphus stood in the bare window and looked to be having a quiet argument. It was an average day in the court of Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort's eyes gleamed red within his angel's face as he inspected the potions for his use. The Healer was a brisk, efficient woman who had once worked at St. Mungo's; she had a family loyal to the Death Eaters and made her choices accordingly.

'This one,' he said, putting a small vial beneath his nose, allowing his still-intact serpentine senses to take in the ingredients.

'Yes, master,' said the Healer.

He knocked back the potion with a small glugging noise. 'Fine,' he said.

Luna knew that she was privileged to witness Voldemort in a state of even slight weakness. He would allow it only of his most loyal followers: Bella, Nott, Rodolphus. And Luna. She wondered where Snape was and decided he must be enjoying the company of Hermione down in the dungeons; they were reading books on potions. Books, always books. Luna wondered if, when they finally succumbed to desire, they would do the act on top of open books, on soft aged parchment. She giggled.

Voldemort glared at her. He was in a foul mood today because of the cough. The Death Eater headquarters was like a ship, Luna mused; little colds and coughs circulated through the inhabitants, along with the gossip. The same had been true at Hogwarts in the late winter months.

The Healer finished her work and scurried out of the room after Voldemort dismissed her. She had a look of relief on her face, for which Luna could not blame her.

'Nott, mark in a time for Severus tomorrow. I need to speak with him about the potions stores.'

In the corner Nott gave a curt, competent nod. 'Yes, Master.'

'It's not the season,' said Luna.

'What?' said Voldemort.

'I mean nothing's growing right now,' said Luna. 'The herbs for the potions and things. The weather is so cold and there's too much fog for the sunlight to reach the greenhouses.'

The room went quiet as Bellatrix and Rodolphus stopped arguing and looked over at Luna. Theo Nott's pen hovered, poised, over the parchment. Nagini kept sleeping.

'I import many of my potions ingredients,' said Voldemort quietly.

'Really?' Luna asked. 'From where? If you don't mind my asking, that is. I have an interest in Herbology.'

'Do you.'

'Yes, well I know about it sort of inadvertently, because one of my—' she choked over the word '—my friends was really into it.'

Bellatrix cackled in the corner. 'Longbottom,' she said. 'We know about him.'

Luna sat up on the divan, her muscles called to attention. 'Huh?'

'The files,' said Bella. 'Isn't that right, my Lord?'

Voldemort sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Bella. Must you always flaunt your position? I've told you that you must learn to control what comes out of your mouth.'

With a nudge from Rodolphus, Bella fell gently to her knees. 'I apologise, my Lord.'

However, Luna's curiosity was not satisfied. How did the Death Eaters know about Neville Longbottom's interests and aptitudes? She stared between Voldemort and Bellatrix, waiting for the master-and-his-dog power struggle to conclude so that she could pry some information from him. Perhaps it was the residual cough or the lethargy of February, but Voldemort did not seem inclined to punish Bella at all.

'Files, sir?' Luna asked.

'Of course, you silly girl. Did you think I would neglect my research?' Voldemort said.

'So… that means you have files on everyone? The Order of the Phoenix? Neville Longbottom? And Celestina Warbeck?'

Voldemort tilted his head at her in acknowledgment. Back in the corner, Nott resumed his writing, and the scritch-scratch of the quill was gentle.

Luna took a deep breath. 'M-my father? Does he have a file, too?'

'Of course.'

'Can I see –'

'No, you may not.' Voldemort's eyes flared in brief glee. It was the look of an addict getting a fix, except Voldemort's vice was power. He was the great sage and eminent junkie. He made the others look like amateurs.

'Oh.' Luna sank back into her seat. She let him see her disappointment because she knew how he enjoyed it. Fed on it. Let him take it away from her; she did not want it. Could she conjure a tear for him? She thought she could, and felt a drop forming in the corner of her eye. From the window, Bellatrix gave a short laugh like a hyena. Luna tried not to think about the fact she'd heard no word of her father since the September past. He could be dead, for all she knew.

'On the matter of the prisoners…' Voldemort continued, addressing Bellatrix and Rodolphus.

Instead of listening to plans of death, Luna traced the carved back of the divan with her index finger. Up the swirl, past the knot, one flowered petal and two and three. All in wood, warm from the pressure of her back. Was Nagini snoring over by the fireplace? Luna didn't know snakes could snore. But then, Nagini was more than your average snake.

It was not as though Luna wanted to know what the Death Eaters did with enemy prisoners. In fact, she thought she was qualified to know about it quite well. In spite of her self-distraction, however, she overheard a few things. Of the Order prisoners taken in January's forest battle, all but three had been executed. The heads of the dead had been placed on pikes outside the near-abandoned Hogsmeade village. It had caused an uproar; Luna had read about it in the Daily Prophet over breakfast with Voldemort one morning. The toast she had been eating had temporarily turned to sawdust; otherwise she had no reaction to the gruesome photograph on the front page.

'If it bleeds, it leads,' she'd commented, something Mr. Lovegood had always joked about the _Prophet_, and Voldemort had smiled at her.

The three remaining survivors of the battle with the Order were Colin Creevey; a young French boy named Michel, to whom Bellatrix had taken a sadistic liking; then, of course, there was Hermione Granger. Thoughts of the latter reminded Luna that she wanted to go down to the dungeons and see her old comrade.

'The Creevey boy is a _mudblood_,' said Rodolphus Lestrange. Rodolphus had a nervous tic in his left eye that made Luna want to put an ice pack on it. 'I don't know how he's survived this long as it is.'

'The younger Death Eaters have had a merry time with him,' said Bellatrix. 'Goyle, especially. He's a chip off the old block.'

'Incompetent, overweight, and closet homosexual?' asked Voldemort sharply, humour in his voice.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus laughed. 'Yes,' said Bella, 'but my husband is right, I think. It's time that Creevey died.'

'Fine,' said Voldemort. 'Have Goyle do it. He should learn not to get too attached to play-things.' He glanced over at Luna with a private smirk behind his eyes.

The fate of the other survivor, the French boy Michel, was similarly decided. Bellatrix's eyes gleamed as she thought up creative ways to do him in; Luna did not need to hear the thoughts aloud to know what the other woman was thinking. Poor Michel; he was a scant year younger than Luna herself, brave, recently graduated from Beauxbatons. He joined the Order on the recommendation of Madame Maxime, who must now be regretting the nomination. That was war.

As for Hermione Granger… 'Another reason to see Snape,' said Voldemort. A note of petulance sounded in his voice. 'What is the progress on breaking her mind? I want to know.'

'I could go talk to her,' Luna volunteered. For the second time, the room went still at her intrusion into their plans. 'I knew her before she was captured. I can tell if she's broken or not.' On purpose, Luna put braggadocio into her voice, trying to sound more confident than she felt. It was not a nice feeling to be a part of the dark plans formulated in this spare unpolished room. Her conscience wanted to pipe up and Luna told it to pipe down.

'Taking on _new _duties, are you?' Bellatrix sneered.

'It just makes sense,' said Luna.

'You're in no position to do it. You don't even have a wand. What if Granger hurts you, oh little pet of our Lord?' Bellatrix sounded a bit hysterical.

'I do have a wand,' Luna said calmly. 'And it's not as though I don't have bodyguards. My Lord,' she turned to Voldemort, 'I can take Smiley and Yorkie down with me, right? They'll protect me from Hermione's… um… fingernails?'

'_Who_ are Smiley and Yorkie?' Voldemort asked, for once allowing himself to be mystified by her in public.

'I don't know their names, so I named them myself. My guards,' said Luna. 'Yorkie because he has a Yorkshire accent, and Smiley because, well – just because.'

'I see,' Voldemort said. 'Very well, take – er – Smiley and Yorkie when you speak to Granger. Then report back to me.'

'Thanks!' Luna chirped. She resumed her tracings on the back of the sofa.

* * *

It had been five months, give or take, since Luna had been in the detention area of the dungeons. Voldemort's large gathering room was on the other end of the dungeon; the potions lab was in between. The dungeon roughly followed the outline of the house above it: two large wings connected by a narrower section. The prisoners were housed in the heavily-warded north side of the basement. 

Luna's nose twitched as she descended the stairs. It smelled like mildew and fear, with another scent deep beneath, a residue of what Luna thought was blood. It was not very pleasant and she said so aloud to Smiley and Yorkie clumping down the stairs behind her. To her surprise, Yorkie agreed, but was nudged in the ribs by Smiley who advised against complaining.

She laughed and shook her head. In spite of everything, she enjoyed the simplicity of her Death Eater guards, ribbing each other and joking. Behind their masks they were but boys, silly boys, in over their heads.

Instead of going straight ahead to the large, cold stone grandeur of the gathering room, Luna turned about and went past the potions lab, down the hallway, and ran into a wicked-looking door of serrated iron bars guarded by four Death Eaters.

'I'm on the Dark Lord's business,' Luna said. All four prison guards wore masks; she could not see who they were. The shape of one suggested Crabbe or Goyle. She presented a small note marked with an unbroken waxen seal. It was her passage to see the prisoners.

All was in order. The four prison guards stood aside; one of them pressed his wand up against the lock and a jet of lavender light glowed for a moment. From the middle, the bars stretched and warped to create a space for Luna to duck through, followed by Smiley and Yorkie. It appeared that security had been stepped up.

She learned just how much when she passed through the initial stretch of corridor toward the cells beyond. On either side of her were two niches in the wall. The niches were tall and deep, yawning back from the corridor, unlit inside. But when Luna stopped and peered inside at the shadows, she knew what lurked there: a Dementor, sniffing out her emotion, hovering in wait. Her breath fogged around her face, followed by an icy despair that froze her to the quick. It felt an alien, but it was there just the same, drawing out her light and wanting to snuff it and feast upon it. Luna recalled that recurrent dream of several months ago about the red-cloaked Dementor…

'But these aren't red,' she said aloud.

She moved on from the Dementor guards, pausing to wait for the Death Eaters who shuffled along, affected by the creatures as much as she. According to her instructions, Hermione Granger was in cell number 20, far down the end of the hallway. Every wooden door along the way was closed so that Luna could not see who else languished there. All was silent. Imperturbable Charms, undoubtedly. Voldemort was too clever and watchful to allow his prisoners communication with one another.

At the end, a simple number '20' was carved into the wood lintel above the solid door. A lock dangled from a chain but Luna knew there were other wards to disarm. Hermione got top priority as a prisoner. Luna stepped aside as one of the dungeon guards tapped on the lock, muttering a password under his breath. She strained her ears to hear it but the sound slipped past her and into thin air. The door swung open.

'Hermione?' Luna asked into the darkness. '_Lumos!_'

A bright white light flared from the end of Luna's wand, illuminating the interior of the cell. The room was blank and dirty and freezing cold. In the middle was a huddled-over figure of a girl. Her wrists and ankles were clapped in irons; chains clanked softly as she lifted her head and squinted her eyes into the light that was Luna.

For a moment, Hermione was speechless. Her jaw clenched, which meant she registered something, but her eyes kept blinking in adjustment. Finally, a hoarse sound came out of her throat: 'Well.'

'Can you leave us alone?' Luna asked Smiley and Yorkie, who hovered on either shoulder.

'No, miss, but we can step outside. The door will have to be left open for us to see you. For your protection.'

'Fine,' said Luna. The look of suspicion on Hermione's face was not lost to her.

'What the – ' Hermione choked, 'what the _hell_ are you doing here?'

'I've come to talk to you,' said Luna. She sat down on the hard floor opposite Hermione and criss-crossed her legs. 'I know it must be hard, being a prisoner here. I'm sorry.'

'You're _sorry_,' Hermione hissed. 'Oh, fabulous. Loony Lovegood is sorry for me, while she sits at the side of Lord Voldemort. I don't need your sympathy, you stupid bitch.'

Luna blinked. She hadn't expected such vitriol. Snape must not have been doing his job of 'breaking' Hermione Granger. 'Think whatever you want,' said Luna. She wished she could tell Hermione everything: about her plans, her true loyalties, her wish to escape. But with Smiley and Yorkie standing Right There, she couldn't. _Are you a witch, Luna Lovegood, or aren't you?_ said a taunting little voice in her head. Why did that voice always sound like Draco Malfoy? But it got its point across.

'_Muffliato,_' Luna whispered. Long ago, Ginny had revealed the useful spell that would hide their words from the ears of interested listeners. 'Listen to me, Hermione,' she said hastily. 'You might have some preconceived idea about what I'm doing here. I appreciate that you all thought I was dead. It must have been a shock to see me at the revel the other night.'

'A shock? Oh, just a little bit,' said Hermione. Her outright hostility was slowly, slowly changing into curiosity.

'I'm the Dark Lord's Seer. That's why I was there that night. Sitting next to him. But I was taken prisoner, just like you… during the Beauxbatons raid, back in September, when I disappeared. I was taken here, put in a cell, and…' Luna paused, not knowing how to explain the rest.

'And? You sold out, did you, Lovegood?'

'No, _Hermione,_ I didn't. Voldemort was bored. He asked me to duel with him, and so I did.'

Hermione scoffed. 'You expect me to believe that you won a duel with Lord Voldemort. Yeah, right. If you came here to tell nasty lies, then you can turn around and go right back where you came from. And see a Head-Healer, while you're at it. You always were a lunatic.'

While she waited for Hermione to finish her rant, Luna regarded the other girl with something approaching sympathy. The brilliant Hermione Granger was a control freak. Luna, along with everyone else, knew that. To be in a situation out of her control must be severely trying for her. Luna could not fault the bad attitude.

'I didn't win the duel,' said Luna. 'He just changed his mind. He decided to – to keep me. I didn't know why. But my wand was taken from me, I was put in a plain room with no means of escape, and then he…' _Oh, I can't say that out loud, not to her. But Snape already knows… perhaps he's already told her… does it matter? Stop thinking, Lovegood, and talk!_ 'Then I became Lord Voldemort's form of entertainment. His court jester in mind and – and in body.'

'Body?' Hermione asked. So Snape hadn't mentioned it. Drats.

'Yes,' said Luna. 'And so I've survived. I've tried to make myself indispensable to him so he wouldn't kill me. A couple of times it was a narrow escape, I think… but I'm still here. My heart is still beating. And you have to believe me, Hermione! I'm loyal. I've never forgotten you, or my friends, or any of it. I tried to escape during the forest battle, but the wards wouldn't let me off the grounds. I am loyal to the Order of the Phoenix.'

This last was spoken in the lowest tones possible. The Muffliato Charm was about to wear off.

'Oh,' was the only thing Hermione could muster.

'Listen to me,' Luna said. Time was growing short and everything in the Riddle House was marked urgent. 'Snape. He's the source for the Order, I know that now, but he can't protect you forever. I think that Voldemort will want you dead, and soon. So get ready. I think that Snape will try to help you get free; he'll probably go with you.'

Outside, Smiley adjusted his position so that he fell across the shaft of light coming into the cell. He reached down to his crotch, adjusted his robes, coughed a little. Luna cast another charm against overhearing.

'I know,' Hermione whispered. 'Severus has a plan—'

'Don't tell me!' Luna hissed. 'In case the Dark Lord picks it from my mind. It's better I don't know anything. But I'm just telling you there's hope, but not much time. If I'm in a position to help, when the time comes, I will.'

'Thanks, Luna,' said Hermione. 'For what it's worth… I'm sorry. I misjudged you.'

Coming from Hermione, the admission of misjudgment was a minor miracle. Luna grinned. She did have friends, even unlikely ones. A sudden well-being fell across her like a warm blanket. In spite of the disturbing presence of Dementors a scant few metres away, Luna looked about and saw stars. Hermione, head resting on knees, beaten but not broken, hope glowing within brown eyes. Friendship and trust there, too. In the doorway, Smiley and Yorkie, who had never harmed Luna despite their position over her. Upstairs, Nagini would be waiting in front of a fireplace, and would welcome the other female with a friendly hiss. Abacus was flying somewhere around the grounds, ever loyal to his girl rider. And Lord Voldemort…

'I'd better go,' said Luna. She stood on her knees and put her hands on Hermione's shoulders; she kissed both of Hermione's cheeks. 'Take care. Tell them I'm alive!'

'If I get out of here myself,' said Hermione, but smiled anyway.

Just as Luna was about to walk out the door, she said in a mock whisper, 'And take it easy on Severus. He's older, you know, and not quite so used to acrobatics between the sheets.'

Hermione pretended to look scandalized.

* * *

When Luna reported back to Voldemort, she said that Hermione Granger was on the edge of sanity. It was not a falsehood; that had always been Luna's opinion of Hermione. She was surprised the girl hadn't suffered a nervous breakdown at Hogwarts with all the work she did. 

'Snape is good at what he does,' Luna remarked, off-hand, once Voldemort's inquiry was satisfied.

'He's one of the best,' said Voldemort. 'A man who walked the edge of loyalty for too long… but he is pragmatic. He sees that I will win and has chosen accordingly.' A smile.

Luna bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from commenting on that. How dearly she wanted to see Voldemort proven wrong. However, that just required patience, and Luna could be patient. Yet… she saw the Order's losses. They were suffering now. Ron dead, Hermione captured, Lupin turned, Snape incommunicado, and the other casualties… it was a choking, stifling feeling and Luna did not like the imposition of it upon her view of right and wrong. She had to believe the light would prevail someday.

Else, what was she doing here?

* * *

**A/N: **The phrase 'great sage and eminent junkie' is from Stephen King's 'Dark Tower' series. And the 'man-shaped hole in time and space' is an allusion to Arundhati Roy… although for the life of me, that woman writes in circles. 


	16. Reunion

**Author's Notes:** My thanks, as always, to those of you who reviewed last chapter: _wildandclear, ravenfeather42, TheAngelOfSilence, Vasilisa23, SSJ Leia, Barranca, Twighunter, SailorHecate, Lrnd,_ _LemoN-X-DroP_, and _Wandz_.

I won't post anything else until next week, so Merry Christmas to all of you! And a happy Yule/Solstice for the pagans (me) and Happy Hanukkah too :-) Wherever you are, I hope you have a lovely holiday.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Recap from Chapter 15: 

_'Snape is good at what he does,' Luna remarked, off-hand, once Voldemort's inquiry was satisfied._

_'He's one of the best,' said Voldemort. 'A man who walked the edge of loyalty for too long… but he is pragmatic. He sees that I will win and has chosen accordingly.' A smile._

_Luna bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from commenting on that. Yet… she saw the Order's losses. Ron dead, Hermione captured, Lupin turned, Snape incommunicado, and the other casualties… it was a choking, stifling feeling and Luna did not like the imposition of it upon her view of right and wrong. She had to believe the light would prevail someday._

_Else, what was she doing here?_

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Reunion**

'There aren't many rabbits left in the garden,' said Luna. 'She'll have to start eating people.' 

'It did take her a good month to digest Wormtail,' Voldemort replied.

They walked on the grounds of the Riddle House. Ahead of them, Nagini slithered, her head peering this way and that. The snake wasn't really hungry, but Luna was right: the small, happy animals had long departed this corner of the world. The garden was frozen over in the last triumphant burst of icy winter weather. The frozen branches and layers of frost made strange amorphous shapes out of mundane objects such as hedges and trees. Their feet crunched along the path; Voldemort was clad in his usual black. Luna wore white. She liked to match the weather.

A slight Warming Charm had been cast by Voldemort to protect them from the biting chill in the air, but the charm was not too strong; he claimed that he liked the taste of cold. Taking great gulps of air, Luna did not see what so wonderful about the cold, but there was no accounting for taste. She had to admit that when it snowed, she liked for the pretty crystals to fall on her own tongue, but it was not snowing now. Heavy grey clouds hung above, the kind that brought sleet or freezing rain or something less beautiful. She settled for dragging her fingers across the occasional bench or surface to disturb the crust of snow there. It was evidence of her passage, that she was still a real solid person.

'Come,' said Voldemort. He steered her down a narrow footway toward the graveyard of Little Hangleton. 'I want to show you something.'

No Muggles ever came near the graveyard anymore. It had been charmed to repel them. Many of the Death Eaters revered the graveyard, the place of the Dark Lord's re-birth, and so it had been set aside as a sort of tribute. Luna knew from the house-elf gossip, and from Bellatrix, that it was a popular place for midnight rendezvous; she'd thought it a bit sick to make love above rotting corpses, but that was Death Eaters for you.

The great yew tree watched their approach as they made their way down the path. Its branches, ever-green and looking healthier than last year, twisted up to meet the grey sky. Luna looked away and concentrated on her feet. The path was slippery.

'What are we going to see?' Luna asked.

'You'll see,' said Voldemort. His voice was pleasant today. Calm.

'I like that one,' said Luna, pointing to an elaborate family tomb carved with vines.

'Muggles,' Voldemort said dismissively. 'But aren't they all?'

'Are they?'

'No,' he said softly. 'No, this one isn't.' He stopped at a small, hunched over stone that looked weary from the effort of standing upright. Snow covered it in drifts. With a wave of his hand and a jet of wandless magic, Voldemort cleared enough for her to read the name.

'Marvolo Gaunt,' Luna read aloud. 'Who's that?'

He laughed beneath his breath. 'My esteemed grandfather.'

'Oh.' Luna peered closer. 'He died in… 1925. So he must have been your mother's father?'

'Yes.'

The air was thick. The ice and snow absorbed all sound. The clouds felt like a stone ceiling hovering above them. Luna looked at Voldemort's hands, bare to the cold and pale; she looked at his boots; at his ears. For reasons unknown she did not want to meet his eyes for all her curiosity. Many times she had wondered about his background, his story. Why had he become what he had? What choices led him along such a path? And here, buried in a cold dead graveyard, was the beginning of it all.

'How did he die?' she asked.

'It was after his release from Azkaban,' Voldemort said. He did not elaborate.

Luna had to stifle a giggle. Family criminality. How unsurprising. 'Following in your ancestor's footsteps? Mayhem and murder?'

'I'm better than they were,' said Voldemort. A tinge of cold crept into his voice. 'They did not live up to their ancestry.'

Luna shuffled her feet so that snow did not gather at her toes. Staring at the tombstone of Marvolo Gaunt, non-Muggle in a Muggle graveyard, she contemplated the notion of family. She herself was pure-blood, although her great-grandparents on her mother's side had been Muggles. Her father's family went back a bit further. She thought of wizarding lines as a complicated braid, a tapestry weaving in and out, Muggles here and there, everyone connected.

It was Mr. Lovegood's assertion that wizards had more in common with Muggles than popular opinion held; else how could witches and wizards be born into completely Muggle families? The last time Luna had seen her father, he'd been planning a big double feature on the theory, for the pureblood issue was a timely one. Proof of commonality with Muggles would stamp down Voldemort's politics. Not that any of Voldemort's supporters would know or care about what the _Quibbler_ said…

'Your mother was a witch, then,' said Luna. 'And your father? Where is he?'

A flicker of distaste, of black pain, crossed Voldemort's features. He twisted his mouth. 'My father is not worthy to be spoken of.'

'I'm sorry,' said Luna. 'I suppose not everyone is lucky in their fathers, like I am. It's not as if we can help who our family is.'

Voldemort made a noncommittal noise. He gestured toward a big hulking stone in the middle of the graveyard, a carved thing that looked elaborate with angels and vines and gargoyles. Luna followed him towards it.

The tomb said 'Riddle.' A small gasp escaped Luna, because she knew of his prior name; however, Voldemort did not know that she knew. He grasped her chin and made her lift her eyes to his.

'It was Ginny Weasley,' said Luna of her own accord. She did not want Legilimency now, not when she'd been holding conversations with Hermione Granger in the dungeons about escape and former friends. 'I know what happened that year at Hogwarts. With your old diary.'

'Do you,' said Voldemort softly.

'Yes. I know that you're – you're the Heir of Slytherin. She told me everything.'

'Not good at keeping secrets, then, is she.'

'Oh, it wasn't her fault,' said Luna. 'No one else knows, aside from Harry and Ron and Hermione, of course. And her family.'

'So why did she tell you?'

'It was the wine,' said Luna. 'We shared a bottle of it and it was… well, it was pretty strong. _In vino veritas_. It all came out. But I'm trustworthy, I didn't tell anyone. Even though my father has a newspaper.'

'Your discretion is admirable,' said Voldemort. He was laughing. 'And what did she tell you about my sixteen-year-old self?'

'Well…' Luna shuffled her feet again. She glanced up at the word 'Riddle' and shrugged her shoulders. Wondered how much Voldemort looked like his Muggle relations; wondered what they had said when he killed them. Wondered what he had told them. 'Ginny said you were charming. And handsome.'

He raised his eyebrows.

Daring, Luna raised her fingers and touched his cheek. She knew her fingers were like ice (her circulation had always been poor in the extremities) but he did not even flinch beneath her touch. 'She was right about that.' Honesty was the best policy in Luna's opinion.

'Charming and handsome. Is that all?'

'Are you disappointed? Don't worry, she also said you were twisted, sick and evil.'

This earned another laugh. Voldemort glanced at the tomb of his father once more. A strange combination of derision (for Tom Riddle Senior) and appreciation (for Luna Lovegood) warred on his cold, handsome features. They started back for the house.

'For what it's worth…' Luna began. She made sure she had Voldemort's attention. 'I think it's cool that you're descended from Slytherin. It fits.'

'It's almost teatime,' said he.

'Yes,' she agreed. For Luna, teatime meant sitting in her room, reading, petting Nagini, letting Birdy the elf brush her hair. She always took green tea rather than the customary black. It was an hour of relaxation and Luna reminded herself to meditate for awhile this afternoon. Keeping her mental abilities intact was something her life depended upon.

'You saw your mother die,' said Voldemort. There were no secrets from him. It was in her dossier, most likely.

'I did,' said Luna. 'When I was nine.'

'A strong age. What happened?'

Luna paused. It was a hesitation because the little hairs of danger were alert on the back of her neck. Giving Voldemort information was always a bad idea; the memory of her mother's death was one of Luna's most notable life experiences. It would give him ammunition, a weakness, an emotional crack that he would no doubt exploit. Yet there was no choice. Although she walked without chains in the garden, alongside him, she was far from free. She was a prisoner, not so much in body anymore, but certainly in mind and heart. Better to tell him in her own way.

'It was rather horrible,' said Luna. She proceeded to give details of the spell her mother had tried to perform, the silver cord, the sorrow, the way her body collapsed limp onto the floor. The way Luna had held her mother's cooling hand for hours until her father came home.

'The Necromancy Spell,' said Voldemort, nodding. 'It's extraordinarily difficult. To contact the dead goes against nature, so that only the most powerful witch or wizard can attempt it. It sounds to me like your mother successfully aimed the spell with the correct incantations, but did not do the necessary binding to keep herself in her body. A fatal mistake.'

'A – a mistake?' Annoyingly, a few tears gathered in the corners of Luna's eyes. She did not like to hear her mother's brilliance torn down like that. For a vague moment she wondered if her tears would freeze in her eyes and if it would hurt. Perhaps she could keep her frozen teardrops…

'I, of course, have successfully performed the Necromancy Spell,' said Voldemort. 'I was quite young at the time. Experimenting. I – well, I must admit, I almost made the same mistake. I returned to my body just in the nick of time. As I said, it's a difficult spell.'

'Really?' said Luna. She sniffled once but felt better. Even Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard alive (now that the dear old Headmaster was dead) had almost made the same error as her mother. Luna decided that Kitty Lovegood must have been a great witch, indeed. 'If I might ask, sir – who did you contact? On the Other Side?'

Voldemort just shook his head.

* * *

_February, the Ice Moon

* * *

_

The day after Luna and Voldemort walked in the graveyard, a large storm pelted the house with ice and sleet and rain that froze between the cracks in the stone. Everyone hunkered down. The Death Eaters lolled about, practicing curses on the few prisoners downstairs and playing endless games of Exploding Snap in the large dungeon room. The war was at a standstill. No one could control the weather, and no one felt like fighting in it. Luna could imagine the scene at 12 Grimmauld Place: the Order, clustered around the kitchen table, warm fires blazing, faces missing from the crowd. Misery, but at least they kept warm.

Voldemort was stingy about lighting fires in the headquarters. He claimed this was to keep his Death Eaters on their toes; Luna said their toes might freeze and fall off. Voldemort had just laughed. 'You can make a necklace out of them, little pet,' he'd said.

'Even I wouldn't,' she said. 'Turnips are one thing. Toes are another.'

He was planning an attack. The idea was to use Hermione Granger as bait for the Order; everyone would know it, but the idea was to bring the fight to them. Voldemort's plan for Ginny Weasley was modified slightly: now he would kill Hermione in front of Harry, hopefully sending him into a senseless rage, provoking him into making a mistake. Of course, Luna was not in on these little planning sessions during which Voldemort would lounge on his uncomfortable hard wooden chair upstairs and Nott would transcribe the minutes; Bella and Rodolphus and Snape and Greyback all listening, groveling, contributing. Luna just knew enough to listen to Voldemort's mutterings after-hours and she gathered enough. After all, she had the Sight, didn't she?

On a dark afternoon when the late-winter wind was howling outside, Luna was downstairs in the library, curled into a chair and reading a novel. The chair was huge and swallowed her up within black leather and wingback arms. It was, however, comfortable and the leather was reassuringly cracked. It smelled of pipe tobacco and older, calmer, more mundane days.

Luna's fingers crept across the page, ready to turn it, but with a few lines left to finish. She always turned pages too soon and had to discipline herself to read it all.

'Psst. Lovegood.' A dry voice, cracked and unforgiving. 'Lovegood!'

Without allowing herself to show that she'd been startled, Luna glanced up from her book, blinking into the shadows of the bookshelves. A figure lurked there, a little bit hunched over. It stepped into the light and turned out to be Bellatrix Lestrange.

'Oh, hi,' said Luna. 'Looking for a book to read? It's a nasty morning outside.'

Bellatrix just shook her head. Luna thought about reaching for her wand, which was tucked up into her ponytail; she had not forgotten how Bellatrix had cornered her and cursed her and caused her pain. Forgiven, sure, but not forgotten. However, something in the nakedness of Bella's expression told Luna that malicious intent was not in the cards for today.

'I need to talk to you,' Bellatrix hissed. 'Now.'

'Oh – um, all right,' said Luna. She closed her book, memorising the page (three hundred and nineteen) then stood up. 'What is it?'

'Shhh.' Bellatrix grasped her wrist in an iron grip and pulled her along the stacks and further into the shadows. Luna knew every corner of the library so she was not frightened, but rather curious. They stopped in a small dark niche where there was a single text on a shelf: an original copy of the _Tibetan Book of the Dead_. It was extraordinarily valuable.

'This is so cool,' murmured Luna, reaching out to touch the book, but Bellatrix interrupted her.

'Shut up and let me talk,' said the other woman. It was a harsh command but the tone of desperation hidden inside of it made Luna stand up straight and listen.

Several seconds of staring later, Bellatrix licked her lips and began to speak. 'I've been doing the Seer Stretches,' she admitted. 'Not often, but, well… the thing is, I think they've worked. But I need to know whether what I saw was real or not.'

'You mean if it was a genuine vision?' Luna stared in open interest at Bellatrix. The woman seemed jittery and unstable. It was as though true vision were a shameful plot that Luna had started. Self-consciously Luna glanced around them; they were alone in this part of the large library. The only other people were Smiley and Yorkie, playing a game of cards by the fireplace, well out of earshot.

'I – I think it was a vision,' said Bellatrix. 'It must have been, because it makes sense, but I didn't want it to be because I never thought it would go this far…' Her long-nailed fingers ran through the jagged crop of black hair on her head. 'I never, never thought…'

'Shh,' said Luna. It was upsetting to see the other woman in such distress. The human instinct to soothe came forth in spite of the subject. 'It's okay, Bellatrix. Shh. Tell me what it is.' When Luna put her hand out to pat Bellatrix's shoulder, the woman tensed, but allowed it.

'I was in my quarters, upstairs, just today,' Bellatrix began. 'My husband had gone somewhere, it was just after lunchtime. I was sitting in my chair and looking out the window, but you know the weather was dark outside. I could see my reflection in the glass of the window. As though it were nighttime. I gazed outside… and then the reflection changed. It started to move and it became a different scene. Like looking at a photograph, all moving but sort of colourless.'

'Go on.'

'It was me. I was in a battle with that gods-damned Order, they were everywhere, red cloaks. It was in a wood. I didn't recognize the place. The battle was at night. The inner circle was there, and the Dark Lord too. He – he ordered us forward, and then that gods-damned Potter came along, and he tried to curse our master. With the Killing Curse. He did it…'

'The Killing Curse?' Luna was surprised. She didn't know Harry had it in him to cast an Unforgivable, not really.

'He did it, and I didn't think, just jumped. I flung myself in front of the Dark Lord and I took the curse. I saw my own body crumpling down to the ground. Then there was a great white flash and the images went away.' Bellatrix took a shaky breath. 'Do you think it was real?'

Yes, Luna thought it was real. But what to tell Bellatrix?

'I never intended to _die_,' said Bellatrix. 'Serve, yes, and fight, and win. But this? Self-sacrifice? I don't _think _so!'

'Calm down before he detects your upset,' Luna said. The words had the right effect and a shadow of fear crossed Bellatrix's face. 'Bellatrix, this may or may not be a real vision. It could be like your worst fears playing out in your head. Don't worry about it too much. Besides… didn't the Dark Lord spring you from Azkaban? Forgive you for mistake after mistake? The very _least_ you owe him is your life. I would suggest that you don't hesitate, should the chance arise to repay him.' The reason why Luna said it was because she believed Bellatrix had seen her own future, her own death. But such things were sealed once revealed. Luna had to make sure it played out the way it was supposed to.

'No, no… right… no hesitation,' murmured Bellatrix.

'And keep doing the Seer Stretches. It will make your sight clearer, if that's what you want.'

'I don't know if it is anymore,' Bellatrix grumbled. She coughed once. Then she leaned in so that her breath tickled Luna's cheek and her black aura intermingled with Luna's own, white-purple-and-some-blue, aura. '_Tell no one about this,_' Bellatrix hissed. Then the woman was gone in a swirl of dark robes.

* * *

It was a leap year. February had another day in it, which made Luna happy because she was born in February. She would turn twenty-one years old on the seventeenth. Secretly she'd always wished to be born on Leap Day, but that would mean she would only have a birthday every four years, which would not have been as much fun for her father, who loved to bestow little gifts on her. 

This year it was too painful to think about fathers and birthday gifts. The best thing would be to slip past the turning of her age without fuss. Her greatest gift this year was that she was still breathing. No one would have expected it of her. The sole concession Luna made to her new age was to wear her favorite red shoes, gleaming and polished by the house-elves, and a pair of handmade earrings constructed of peacock feathers. Twenty-one was a peacock red age.

Mid-morning on her birthday, Voldemort returned from the place in his metallic mind where he plotted and schemed and planned attacks. He'd shut himself up in his upstairs study (throne room) and made poor Theo Nott work twenty-hour shifts, writing things down. The top Death Eaters attended Voldemort constantly. Luna was relegated to her reading and sleeping and walking aimlessly about the house, forgotten. She had, however, taken the opportunity to speak to Hermione Granger once more. But these things said were shunted away past the clouds of Luna's mind, into the fog of disassociation, because they were dangerous as all information was in the headquarters of the Dark Lord.

The month's bad weather cleared for Luna's sake on her twenty-first, allowing pallid sunshine to tickle the snow and a few puffy, tired clouds to skirt the horizon, afraid of coming near. In spite of the cold Luna requested her breakfast out on the terrace. Birdy the elf obliged her with hot tea, toast with jam, porridge thick with cream and cinnamon, hearty food for a cold day. Luna sat at a frozen metal table covered with a snowy white tablecloth that matched the landscape. A generous Warming Charm aided her fingers in eating.

'Is there a reason why you're eating outside?' said his voice from behind her.

'I like the sunshine,' said Luna without turning around. A wild thrill, back turned to Lord Voldemort.

His hands came to rest on her shoulders. 'You've been free of me these past few days.'

'You've been busy, my Lord.'

'I have. But don't think that everything else escapes my attention.'

Fluttering heart, betraying her. Could he feel her pulse under his fingers? Could he know about her second trip to the dungeons to see –

'It's your birthday,' Voldemort said softly.

'Oh, yes,' said Luna, amazed at the calm strength of her voice. Close calls were the measure of her existence now. 'I've been alive for twenty-one years.'

'Not long.'

'Long enough.'

'I have something for you. Something I believe you lost.' Voldemort stepped off the terrace and onto the white expanse of snow-covered lawn. He brought out something small and glinting from a pocket and held it to his mouth. Luna sensed a quivering note in the air around her, but it was pitched too high for her to hear it.

A gentle flapping of wings. Leather in the sky. Luna glanced up and stood up in a single fluid motion. 'Abacus!' she gasped. Then she shouted it.

The Thestral floated along on a draft of cold air and touched down onto the snow. Voldemort glanced at it and rejoined Luna on the terrace. She hopped back and forth on her feet, anxious to greet her old friend, but knowing that she could not do so until Voldemort allowed it.

'Go,' he said.

She took off her red shoes, discarding them on the terrace in a daintily tilted pile, and ran with bare feet. Behind her, the pale blue dress she wore flew out to match her blonde hair in a stream of joy. On her left was the altar stone, stained with blood, little crystals of it glinting in the cool sunshine. She did not look at the stone as she ran toward the dark horse with open arms.

'Abacus,' she whispered. 'Oh, Abacus, I've missed you so much, I can't even tell you…' Nuzzling her face into the Thestral's strong leathery neck, she sighed and realised there were tears of happiness that got them both wet. 'You are the most loyal creature there ever was. You waited for me, didn't you? And found me? And circled, over and over, against the Dementors and the storms, because you knew I was here and alive and missing you…'

Abacus clicked his teeth together as he always had; he neighed and whinnied and poked at her face with his velvety nose. The strange horse's white eyes shone with their own inner light.

'Oh, but what am I thinking? Here.' Luna brought out her wand and conjured a handful of sugar cubes. It was more than what she usually gave Abacus, but there was lost time to be made up for. She laughed as his tongue and lips tickled her palm, eating up the sweet cubes. She giggled when he nudged her so hard that she fell over into the snow. Then she squealed with delight as she raced around him, playing, teasing, not feeling the cold seeping into her toes.

With a quick hoist up, Luna was on Abacus's back and they swooped around the garden, fast and crazy, re-united as best friends. She tried to get him to do a loop-the-loop, but she tumbled off instead, springing to her feet uninjured. Her arms swung in the air, she spun herself around fast – there was Abacus, there he wasn't, there he was again, a dark patch against the trees and the house. She laughed a high and merry girl's laugh.

From the terrace, Voldemort watched, his face inscrutable.


	17. Betrayal from an Expected Quarter

**Author's Notes:** Thank you, reviewers! _SailorHecate, Lrnd, Maru to Moro, Akari.no.Aizou, selenoliber, TheAngelOfSilence, SarahColdheart _(bright reader with noticing the 'red' theme going on…!)_, Angela, Ravenfeather42, Barranca, wildandclear, LemoN-X-DroP, SSJ Leia, The Eraser, _and _Cara_.

Don't hate me for this one… it was Voldemort's fault! He made me do it! For those of you who've read my non-fictional analysis of Voldemort's character, you'll recognise an oblique reference in the form of Luna's thoughts. What's the point of writing if not to get a message across, anyway? ;-)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Betrayal from an Expected Quarter**

When the first day of March dawned on Britain, no one knew it, because of the storms. They raged across the island, front after front of rain, wind, cold. The Muggles measuring the weather said it was unprecedented. The wizards knew better.

Inside the Dark Lord's headquarters, plans were being finalised. There were flurries of activity here and there, Death Eaters training in the big dungeon room, squadrons forming under the command of Bellatrix, of Greyback, of Carrow. It depressed Luna because she could do nothing except read during the days; she wanted to be outside with Abacus. He was living in the woods beyond the house.

Still Abacus answered her summons whenever she sent up jets of indigo light from her wand; he always knew. With the weather so bad, however, there was room only for indoor activities. Luna and Abacus would huddle together under one of the eaves; she would whisper soft comforting things into his leathery ears and pet him and conjure more sugary treats than was good for his health. She came in from these meetings cold and soaked to the skin.

The nights were full of tension, too. The muscles beneath Voldemort's skin were taut and knotted. Luna would kneel behind him, massaging his shoulders, feeling more in servitude than ever. The new warmth of his human body never quite made it to his eyes when he looked at her. It did work on her skin, however. More often than not, she would awake in his bed, tangled up in sheets, too warm from the fire that blazed too hot in the hearth. Voldemort, of course, never noticed changes in temperature. Such things were beyond him.

She heard his mutterings in the night. She knew what he was going to try to do. Humanity was too much for Voldemort to cope with and so he would try to dispose of it again. She'd heard him discussing it with Snape, the details of the plan, the steps that would be taken. She had been sitting in a niche along the stairwell, able to listen through the wall to Voldemort's throne room, thinking once again how lax the Dark Lord had become in his own territory.

'I must make a new one,' said Voldemort. 'They've weakened me.'

Snape spoke. 'They've strengthened you, my Lord! Surely there must be another way…'

'There is _my_ way,' said Voldemort. 'And I will use the death of that mudblood. She has a great deal of magical power… a fine mind… it will be absorbed into me. Oh, I _am_ sorry, Severus. I know how you feel about her.' He cackled then, a nasty laugh, the kind that should be reserved for old and bitter women. 'But you seem to forget I've already once offered to spare a woman for your sake.'

'I have not forgotten,' said Snape, stiffly.

'What is your obsession with the lionesses, Severus? Do you think they please you better? Do you think they make you a better man? Because you won't ever be worthy of that type of devotion. No,' said Voldemort, 'your heart is weak.'

'As you say, My Lord,' said Snape. The pain in his voice could be heard even through walls. 'But the matter of Miss Granger –'

'I have told you!' said Voldemort. 'Do not become too attached. Do not forget who gives and who takes away. You ought to consider it an honour. Your mudblood whore will give her life for a greater cause. It's what she would want, isn't it? Hasn't she given away everything else to you already?'

'I haven't—'

'Tsk, tsk. Learn to take advantage of opportunities when they arise, Snape. It's unlike you to do otherwise. Now I do hope I won't hear any more pleas to spare Granger's life. She has been kept for far too long as it is.'

'Yes, Master.' Snape's voice had turned cold. 'I see that she must go. Your glory will not be dimmed, and you have my allegiance, as always. Whatever you require me to do, I will do.'

'Good,' said Voldemort, sounding satisfied in the way of a child who's been returned their toy.

At that point Luna had left her listening post, in fear of being discovered, and realised to her horror what the conversation meant. Voldemort was going to use the murder of Hermione Granger to create a new Horcrux. And she thought she knew the object he would use to house it… she'd seen him wearing that Tibetan skull necklace that had once hung around her neck… seen the way he admired it. It was a symbol of his power over another human being, and it was a symbol of ancient magic. It fit like pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that his soul had become.

Luna felt obligated to warn Hermione, but left it up to Snape. She was helpless. Within the Riddle House she now had omniscience without omnipotence. She could see, but could not act. It was the way she would once have chosen it, but no longer. The demands of reality had finally seeped into her consciousness and Luna understood it was not enough to _know_. A person had to use their knowledge for something.

Yet, a person also needed to learn when to let go.

In her mind, she let Hermione Granger go, let the chains of friendship dissolve away, for the pragmatic reason of not giving away Snape's game. She imagined her wishes in a box, sealed and locked away, full of danger but for hope at the bottom, just like Pandora. When Voldemort spent time with Luna, his mood was buoyant with his new plan, and she responded in kind as though she were glad for him.

* * *

The bad winter weather had cleared; in like a lion, out like a lamb, as the saying went. March was clear and cool with occasional rainstorms that washed away the remaining piles of slushy snow that decayed in the garden. It would be a few weeks before the green shoots of new life pushed up from beneath the soil. Until then, everything was dead or dying: winter, snow, hope. 

From the little snippets that Luna overheard from Death Eaters, from the throne room, and from Bellatrix's bragging, the big attack was scheduled for the spring equinox. Voldemort would kill two birds with one stone: he would dispose of Hermione Granger by creating a Horcrux with her murder, and then he would use her torn body as bait for Harry Potter. His glee was palpable. From what Luna understood, the making of a Horcrux was a tremendously complicated bit of magic, and it required prior preparation of the vessel; in this case, the Tibetan skull medallion. Voldemort was busy and he loved evil business.

The bonds that held Luna's mind clanked together menacingly. Every time she tried to lift her chains and fly free, away, from Voldemort and his plans, she was held back. Her shoulders acquired a slump that Voldemort complained about. She held her back straight again but it was more of an effort than it had ever been. Hermione Granger. Nothing could be done about her. Luna questioned the validity of her very existence now; if she could not save her friend, what on earth good was she? What was she waiting for?

The answer came on the fifteenth of March. It was a rainy day and foggy, with clouds that clung to the ground, erasing the boundary between earth and sky. Luna was outside, petting Abacus, ignored by the Dark Lord except for the nightly massages she was giving him. Like a servant.

Soft tears gathered in her eyes. Abacus nuzzled her but even that did not cheer her. Luna was falling into the maw of dread that hovered like a black sinkhole at the edge of her mind. She clenched Abacus's stringy mane in her fist, trying to find some power for herself. Luna (how surprising!) needed solid ground to stand on. She giggled to herself, a bit madly, because she'd never desired grounding before. New emotional sensations were ticklish to Luna.

Abacus let out a low growl in his throat, almost like (gulp) a wolf. Luna glanced up through the rain. Her eyes widened.

Two figures draped in dark grey scurried towards her. They were not in Death Eater robes. Luna whipped out her wand. 'Who's there?' she whispered.

'Hush,' came a deep, resonant voice reduced to a likewise whisper. It was Severus Snape.

'Severus!' Luna mouthed.

When the figures were next to her, she understood, and the fog lifted not in the real world, but inside Luna's turmoil of despair. A sunburst ray, lifting her heart; she smiled sweetly because she was happy. She did not know how Hermione and Snape had snuck out of the dungeons, nor did she want to know. The point was that they had. 'Oh, I see,' she said. 'Good luck then.'

'Thank you,' Hermione murmured.

The solution was obvious. Voldemort's headquarters was strongly warded against both intrusion and escape; Snape knew it better than most. Luna glanced at the creature beside her. 'Abacus,' she said in a low voice. 'Will you serve the Order once more?'

The Thestral pawed at the stone terrace as though eager to take flight.

Snape and Hermione glanced at one another; Hermione had a tiny smile on her face and Severus's eyes held a pleased gleam. They were holding hands, Luna noticed. A flare of hope grew inside of her and she relaxed her grip on her wand. 'Will you be able to go beyond the wards? Even though Hermione is a prisoner?'

'Yes,' said Snape. 'Only for a moment, though. I've personally weakened the sky-wards just to allow us through. I—' he paused, looking intently at Luna.

'I can't go,' Luna whispered. She did not even know if she wanted to go with them. Craning her head back, she felt the rain fall on her face and the fog press in about her. It also occurred to her that when Snape and Hermione left, Voldemort might blame her, Luna, for not foreseeing it. She sighed. It was not to be helped. Besides, what could he do? Torture her? He already had. Rape her? Done. Kill her? That would be a mercy.

'You go,' Luna said to Hermione and Severus. 'Abacus could only carry two, besides. He'll drop you beyond the wards and come back to me. Won't you, Abacus?' She petted her Thestral with a lump in her throat. Freedom, but not for her. Her chains were intact.

'Luna,' Hermione whispered, leaning forward and hugging her with great force. 'We won't forget about you. We'll find a way to save you.'

'Miss Lovegood,' said Snape, already lifting himself onto the Thestral's back. 'I thank you for your assistance.' His eyes grew cold to look at her. 'Please take care of yourself. As Herm—Miss Granger says, if we can find a way to help you, we shall.'

Luna nodded. Snape was covering his bases and his promise lacked the heartfelt force of Hermione's. That was his nature and Luna did not blame him for it. Once again she found herself understanding too much about those around her; her eyes really were too large.

'Come,' said Snape, speaking to Hermione. 'There's no time!'

With a swoop of grey cloth, a flash of a hand, and the urgent command of Snape's boots into Abacus's flesh, the prisoner was escaped with her professor on the back of Luna's only hope. Into the fog they rose and within seconds, they were invisible to Luna. She raised a hand to wave at them, unacknowledged, and then wiped away her tears as she went back into the house. Her left eye cried in pain and abandonment. Her right eye cried with joy and happiness for Hermione's escape. A mingled and confused river streamed down her face.

She wandered up the stairs and into her room. She watched the rivulets of rain dance down the coloured glass of the rose window. She heard a shout, a klaxon-like call, a violent shuddering of the house's foundations.

The theft of Voldemort's prize murder had been discovered.

For several hours the search went on. Luna took to the hallways, silent and staring, as Death Eaters streamed around her. They searched the grounds, the house, the immediate area, the woods… to no avail, of course. Snape and Hermione had long Apparated themselves away. Abacus had done his job, avoiding the Dementors in the fog and bearing his riders to safety. For her cold eyes and still hands, Luna's heart glowed with well-being. Every muttered profanity by a Death Eater meant that she had done some good after all.

The day wore on and Luna's Dark Mark squirmed on her skin as though annoyed. She giggled again, because she was tickled again.

She settled in to wait out the hours with a cup of green tea that she refilled with her wand, over and over again.

* * *

_March, the Death Moon

* * *

_

The middle of March was historically the time for betrayal. Luna knew this and could have told Voldemort so, if he'd asked. He did not, however, and was thus taken by surprise when it happened.

Ironically, it was Bellatrix who gave Luna the advance warning that something bad was coming her way. On that day of the escape for Severus and Hermione, with Death Eaters running around in full masks and Luna still watching it all, wide-eyed, from a sitting place in a stairwell, Bellatrix strode down the hall with her black silk-wool robes flailing behind her like ominous clouds. 'It's you he wants,' she snapped at Luna.

'M-me?'

'He says you should have known. That you should have foreseen it.' A look of glee twisted inside Bellatrix's dark eyes. 'It was nice knowing you, Loony Lovegood.' Laughter, as the woman resumed her near-run down the hallway.

A cold dread settled into the pit of Luna's stomach. The blame would fall to Luna, the Seer, then. She should have known. With a shaky deep breath she rose to her reluctant feet and decided to go to Voldemort on her own, without being summoned. Her Dark Mark writhed on her forearm, not a summons yet, but certainly angry. Under her tongue she whispered things, bits of songs, little prayers, nursery rhymes, comfortable nothings. Her hands trailed along the wood paneling of the walls. It was warm to the touch, almost alive.

Three short minutes later, Luna found herself before the doors of Voldemort's upstairs throne room. Two Death Eaters were posted outside of it, anxiety written in their posture. 'What is it, miss?' one of them asked.

'I've been summoned,' she said.

They nodded curtly and one of them knocked, disappeared into the flaming darkness beyond, and stuck his head back out. 'Come in,' said the guard.

'Here we go,' she muttered. 'It was nice knowing you, Loony Lovegood.'

The throne room was cloaked in darkness. The curtains were drawn against the bright March afternoon and the fire roared in its place like a beast. Frightening shadows were cast into the corners. Theo Nott was at his desk, of course, but his normally neat combed hair was tousled and there were bags under his dark eyes. A couple of Death Eaters groveled on the floorboards.

And the Dark Lord paced, back and forth, in front of the fireplace, his boots making hard clicking noises on the floor. He was in silhouette but for the flash of his bright scarlet eyes. For a moment Luna thought she'd wandered into hell. It was a fair enough assessment of her general situation, she realised. When Voldemort paused his pacing and turned his head towards her, Luna's knees were already on the floor, unable to help their reaction to kneel before him.

'Snape is gone,' said Voldemort. 'Along with his mudblood whore, Granger.'

_Oh_. There was nothing to be said about that, for to speak would be to compromise her lack of surprise. She bowed her head.

'And you did not foresee this new development.'

'No, sir. I was not given –'

'Not good enough!' Voldemort interrupted in a soft, deadly hiss. 'Not good enough by half. What _use_ is a Seer to me? I was given no warning by your supposed abilities.'

'My Lord, please. It is an art, not a science, and as you well know, my visions come to me in dreams. I have no control over what comes through from – from the other side.' Luna dared to lift her eyes and look at Voldemort. He stood over her, seething in anger, his eyes bright with it.

'If it's not _you_ who Sees, then who _is_ it? Don't claim that something is possessing you. I would recognise the signs. Don't lie to me, Luna Lovegood!'

'It's not like that,' she cried. 'I don't know where it comes from. But I can hardly help what information I'm given.'

'Your excuses are tired. I'm beginning to think you're not properly motivated,' he said, stretching out a cool white hand to touch her head and pull it back. 'I think you did know about Snape. And I think you hid the information from me.'

'I never -- !'

'Hush! I don't want excuses for poor performance.' Voldemort knelt in front of her. His voice was so quiet, so horrible. 'You _will_ not fail again. And you will not be given another chance.'

For a sweet instant, Luna thought that was all it would be. A reprimand. She got the message; anything else was unnecessary. But it was not about, Luna, unfortunately; it was about Voldemort and he was not finished.

Standing, his eyes flashed in warning and then his voice was shaking with rage. 'Snape! Gone! And no warning! You are worthless, Luna Lovegood, a piece of rubbish, undeserving of the life I gave you. Do you understand how _low_ you are? DO YOU?'

From the corners of the room, the few Death Eaters in the room had fallen still, watching avidly. Luna, too, stared half in horror, half in fascination at the sight of Voldemort in a temper. His human face was deathly pale aside from a slight flush to his cheeks. His demonic eyes burned. Curiosity won out over Luna's fear and she stared at him without responding to his question.

'Punishment,' he cried, 'yes punishment is needed, but the Cruciatus is too good for you, isn't it? Lord Voldemort will not be merciful tonight… follow me… GET UP!'

Stumbling to her feet, Luna wondered for a moment about why he spoke of himself in third-person. It made her wonder if somehow he was out of control of himself… That Lord Voldemort was an external entity he'd created but did not fully identify with. An interesting theory, to be sure, she thought as Voldemort used his wandless magic to float and tumble her along in front of him, out the door and down the stairs.

A few Death Eater guards followed them, inscrutable behind their skull-like masks, silent and uncaring witnesses to the latest of Voldemort's victims.

It was late afternoon by then and banks of old rain clouds hung in the sky, obscuring the sun. A dark grey light filtered through, but there was no hope in it. Luna said nothing as Voldemort released her from the floating charm and she fell onto the stone terrace outside the mansion. It took only a few seconds for Luna to regain her feet.

Voldemort strode forward and for a moment Luna thought he was taking her back to the bloodstained stone altar where – where things had begun. But he passed it and stood on the lawn, took out a whistle, and Luna realised who was truly in danger.

'No,' she whispered. 'No!'

Abacus appeared, good little Thestral that he was, soft reptilian wings fluttering as he landed on the lawn next to Voldemort as summoned. A gentle eddy of cool, cloudy air brushed the grass, causing the blades to wave, friendly-like. The horse blinked his quiet, glowing eyes, and his sharp teeth seemed to smile at them.

'Please, my Lord,' Luna intervened, running towards Voldemort with her hands raised in supplication. 'Please, don't hurt him. I'll do anything. Blame me, curse me, I don't care, just don't –'

Voldemort laughed. It sounded unhinged. 'Too late,' he said. He raised his wand. Abacus turned his dragonish head toward Luna, looking at her with staring white eyes, somehow cognizant of what was about to happen to him.

Luna screamed as Voldemort uttered the Killing Curse.

'_Avada Kedavra_!'

The flash of poisonous green light struck Abacus in his bony horse's breast. The Thestral let out a squawk of pain or dismay, Luna could not tell which, and crumpled to the ground in a pile of jutting black bones and skin. The corpse seemed to sigh one last time before settling into death.

Tears ran freely down Luna's stiff cheeks as she stared at the scene before her. Abacus, her loyal friend so recently returned to her. He'd done nothing wrong. And then there was Lord Voldemort, satisfaction written on his face, wand resting lightly in his hand as though it were a routine (which, for him, it was). In that moment, when he'd taken away that which was so dear to her, she hated him, oh, how she hated him… the wave of pain overtook her, screaming in her head, a shriek of hatred of which she had not known she was capable.

'I hate you,' Luna told Voldemort.

He raised his eyebrows. 'I'm devastated.'

'I'm not just saying it. I hate you.' Her voice was chilled and calm, in contrast to her crying eyes and burning cheeks.

'I believe you. And now, Luna Lovegood, you have learned the price of failing in what Lord Voldemort asks of you.'

'Why do you do that?' she cried. 'Who is Lord Voldemort? Who are _you_? Do you hate yourself just as I hate you?'

'Incredible,' Voldemort breathed. '_Silencio!_'

She strode up to him, not caring if she aggravated him into killing her, and looked straight into his eyes, daring him to enter her mind. Knowing what would enrage him the most, she prepared her thoughts and emotions, vaguely surprised at their authenticity. Voldemort, like Luna, tended to be too curious for his own good and so she felt him thrust forward into her thoughts.

'_You will not silence me,'_ she thought. '_You can curse me. You can punish me. But I will be with you forever, Tom Riddle, even if you kill me. I will haunt you. I will never leave you. I will show you the meaning of _true loyalty.'

Voldemort staggered and took a step back. Blinking a few times, he narrowed his eyes at Luna. He seemed not to be breathing. Above them, the guardian Dementors swirled and hovered, hungered by the emotions charging through the air, wanting to feed, but they could not come closer than twenty metres from the humans. The monsters still chilled the air. Luna's breath was expelled in misty clouds around her face; she knew Voldemort was holding his breath because the air in front of his mouth was clear.

He put away his wand. They were hands-only now. Luna's heart pounded madly as he stepped towards her; her mind was a storm of anger and rage and sorrow and, most peculiarly, affection. A need for approval from him. A pardon for her mistakes. An acknowledgment that this had spiraled out of the control of either of them.

Voldemort's hands gripped her upper arms, tight, hard, full of anger. There would be bruises. She made no effort to struggle against him. His grip was the only active way he touched her just then, but they were standing in such proximity that their bodies were pressed together anyway. Gently. Her breasts, awake beneath her dress, were against his chest; the air that they breathed was the same.

Leaning in so that his mouth was next to her ear, Voldemort whispered. 'How…_dare_…you.'

Then he released her and walked inside without a look back. His Death Eaters, impassive from a distance, followed him.

Luna was left alone on the terrace with Abacus's corpse, which in the way unique to Thestrals decayed fast into a hard, ashy outline of the creature that had once been. She gathered a small bit of the ashes and put them into a pocket of her robes. Someday she might say goodbye to Abacus and spread the ashes, but not today. Today she had been punished by the Dark Lord and was guilty. She sat, irreverently, on the Dark stone altar, pulled her feet in so that she hugged her knees, and cried.


	18. A Narrow Proof of Loyalty

**Author's Notes: **Thank you, reviewers! _Vasilisa23, selenoliber, The Eraser, TheAngelOfSilence, foeldesilajos, Sarah Coldheart, SailorHecate, Pandora, SSJ Leia, twighunter, Barranca, Talriga, Mirrordjyn, Howl, _and _asdfffffff._

Sorry for the delay in getting this updated – Real Life interferes sometimes. This is a bit of a transition chapter, but we learn why it is not a good idea for Voldemort to make any more Horcruxes. He'll have to find another way.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does.

* * *

Recap from Chaper 17:

_Luna was left alone on the terrace with Abacus's corpse, which in the way unique to Thestrals decayed fast into a hard, ashy outline of the creature that had once been. She gathered a small bit of the ashes and put them into a pocket of her robes. Someday she might say goodbye to Abacus and spread the ashes, but not today. Today she had been punished by the Dark Lord and was guilty. She sat, irreverently, on the Dark stone altar, pulled her feet in so that she hugged her knees, and cried.

* * *

_

**Chapter Eighteen**

**A Narrow Proof of Loyalty**

In the aftermath of the escape of Severus Snape and Hermione Granger, the headquarters of Lord Voldemort was put into a lockdown. The status of the remaining prisoners was reviewed; most of them were executed for simplicity's sake. The one remaining was old Mr. Ollivander, formerly of Diagon Alley; he was kept alive for the purpose of replacing Death Eater wands lost or stolen in combat. The wards on the house and grounds were strengthened; the Death Eaters themselves were put through extensive questioning with Veritaserum to determine their loyalties. None of them were found wanting.

For Luna, the last two weeks of the month of March passed in darkness and despair. She was confined to her room, with Smiley and Yorkie once again posted as guards against her roaming. According to her moon calendar, it was a waning moon towards dark, and she felt it. Weak. Diminishing.

And yet her mind worked away, unable to stop itself, whirring to life and purpose even as Luna paced listlessly around her room or laid on the bed with unenthusiastic muscles. Half-baked plans formed and unformed. Vague shapes flitted about. Luna thought that she needed another vision, a genuine one, and soon. There had to be something that would get her back into Voldemort's good graces.

To add to her worries, there was a nagging, clever part of her that wondered if Bellatrix Lestrange had taken her place as a Seer. The woman did have that vision that sounded genuine, after all, and would take advantage of the new skill to force Luna out. Being a Death Eater meant a constant power struggle with one's fellows. Luna was not cut out for it, not ruthless enough. She didn't care enough.

'Miss, you must eats something,' said Birdy the house-elf, Apparating into the room with a plate of sandwiches and a glass of pumpkin juice. 'You have not eaten in days.'

'I'm not hungry,' replied Luna. Her bones were starting to show. But every time she looked at food, she felt nauseated, remembering those that would never eat again. Those like Abacus. She walked to her nightstand and picked up the small pouch-pocket that held the handful of his ashes.

'It's orders, Miss,' said Birdy. 'Please. I was told if you's do not eat, I will be punished.'

Luna sighed. 'All right, then.' She replaced the pouch and sat in her armchair, pulling the plate of sandwiches onto her lap. The look of exultation on the elf's face was almost worth it.

Chewing and swallowing was an effort but Luna made it. She drank her augmented pumpkin juice at Birdy's insistence (Luna had never known a house-elf to be so bossy when it came to drinking pumpkin juice) and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

'I'm done.'

With a pop, Birdy was gone. Luna was alone again.

It was several weeks before the death of Abacus was not the first thing Luna thought of when she awoke, and the last thing she thought of when she went to sleep. The pain hardened her heart in a way that was almost protective. A dispassionate part of her observed her grieving process and declared it healthy. She told herself, '_This, too, will pass._'

Luna would die someday and she would be reunited with the others, with Abacus and her mum. All things died and all things lived again. All except Voldemort, but he was beyond definition and understanding, so Luna put him in a special little box in her mind that rattled for attention but stayed closed. For now. The healing process was made easier because Voldemort did not use her in his customary ways; she was out of favour.

In her grief, she slept for fourteen hours at a time.

* * *

She was summoned to Voldemort's bare room upstairs. The summons came in the form of her Dark Mark, grazing her beneath her skin, and she walked through the corridors with reluctant feet. It was not going to be pleasant. Was more torture in store for her? Had her failure to predict Snape's betrayal set her back to her original status?

Voldemort held court with a few other Death Eaters and Nott the secretary, as usual. Luna bowed before him, her knees hitting the floor with a thud of internal pain. 'My Lord,' she said.

'You have failed and been punished by Lord Voldemort,' he said coldly. 'But, Luna…' he extended a hand and lifted her by the chin to look at him, 'it was a punishment. That is all. It has not changed your duties, merely made you more… aware… of the stakes.'

She swallowed and nodded.

'Now, take a seat,' Voldemort said, gesturing at a hard wooden bench. There was an open place beside Fenrir Greyback and Luna sat on the edge of the bench, keeping her hands and arms as close to her body as she could, all too aware of the werewolf's hunger for flesh, his heavy breathing next to her. She was reminded of poor Professor Lupin, who had been turned by Greyback as a child, then turned by Voldemort as an adult. There could be no judgment of such a tragedy.

For some odd reason, Voldemort allowed her to remain in the room as he gave orders and outlined plans. Luna thought that because he'd caused her such pain, he believed her more loyal to him for it. He had reinforced his control over her by taking the thing she cared about: Abacus. The ego of the Dark Lord refused to consider that his power might still be challenged after such an episode.

As Luna watched him speak, and move his hands, and wave his wand to make a demonstration, she wondered how he must have been treated by the world. Only a mistreated person would believe that the power of pain, of fear, was the greatest motivator of men. Better to be feared than loved, or was it better loved than feared? Luna knew the question was not so simple. Both fear and love were a matter of degree.

When Luna's values went beyond that which could be bestowed or taken away by a mortal, she remained out of his reach. It was a warm, protective embrace around her heart. As long as she did not value it, it would not matter. Abacus was in a better place. He was in Thestral heaven. He was happy, wherever he was, and she knew it so completely that tears gathered at the corners of her large eyes. She glanced down so the Dark Lord would not see her happiness.

After her mockery of forgiveness with Voldemort, Luna was allowed back in his chamber that night. She was allowed to feel more pain inflicted by him. She was allowed to lie flat on her back and take him in, her limbs bound not by ropes but by magic. 'I have great things planned for you, Luna,' he murmured to her when he was finished. 'You have no idea yet. The Dark Lord has not forgotten you.'

'I'm honoured,' she whispered back, trying not to cry. In the beginning days of her captivity she would have wondered if he was going to kill her. Her caring for life had seeped away now; if he did kill her, she would be true to her word to him. She would make herself more powerful from the Other Side. She would not rest until she'd broken through Lord Voldemort and discovered what really resided inside him.

As Luna watched him settle into sleep, she wondered if her light would survive the discovery.

* * *

_April, the Growing Moon

* * *

_

In mid-April, Luna was given permission to work in the greenhouses, in the absence of Severus Snape. The feel of dark soil between her fingers soothed her, and the sight of the happy oblivion of plant life gave her hope. A new Potions Master was brought to headquarters, a middle-aged wizard named John Jigger, who was not nearly as good as Snape had been, nor was he as comfortable with the Dark side. Luna befriended him at once. She also told him that to rebel was out of the question; Voldemort himself was too good at Potions. He could smell things with his tongue. The Dark Lord's magical senses were so acute that John Jigger had best buckle up his strength and do as he was told.

At least, that was what Luna told him. She was the last one left who dared to believe otherwise for herself. Snape had escaped. So had Hermione. The rest had fled into the safety of death. It was an effort not to get attached to the plants and herbs she cultivated in the greenhouses, just so she would have something to talk to.

One fine spring day, Voldemort himself inspected the greenhouses, bringing Nagini with him. His black cloak was too harsh against the soft verdant greens. Luna squawked with surprise when she saw him, as she was in the middle of repotting a Chinese Chomping Cabbage.

'My Lord,' she said, dipping down.

'You have dirt on your face,' he said, reaching out to wipe her cheek with a thumb. It was a caring gesture and Luna secretly despised him for it. If only he would stay abnormal, she would never be scarred from him.

'Dirt is a consequence of working with the plants,' she managed to say. 'Hope is a dirty thing.'

'You find hope here?' he asked.

'I find hope everywhere,' she said. 'Even in you.'

'If you seek illusion, that is up to you. I will not lift a hand to assist you.'

'I know you won't,' said Luna cheerfully. She bent down to pet Nagini.

'You will dine with me tonight,' said Voldemort.

'Well, that didn't require a trip down here,' said Luna. 'You could have just summoned me.'

'I'm aware of that, you silly girl. I wanted to see the greenhouses. Is there Devil's Snare growing? I will be in need of it soon.'

Luna smiled. She wanted to make a smart remark about Voldemort himself as ensnaring devils, but restrained herself. 'I'll show you,' she said, brushing past him like a feather. 'This way.'

The Devil's Snare occupied a small dark room all to itself, for it would throttle anything near it and had to be protected from direct sunlight. Luna tapped on the glass of the door and a green tentacle stirred in response. 'It's called Boris. Boris likes water, gnomes, and dirt. He enjoys being sung to and his favourite lullaby is "I Had a Little Nut Tree." Boris is about three months old… what?' Luna stopped.

Voldemort's lips were pressed together in what might have been rage… but then he shocked her by turning his head away and exhaling in a single burst of rich laughter. 'You are truly insane,' he said. 'Its name is Boris? It likes water, gnomes, and dirt?'

'Well, yes,' said Luna, failing to see what was so funny and disturbed that Lord Voldemort had called her crazy.

Voldemort's teeth were white like his skin. His genuine laughter was rare so it was quite scary. Shaking his head, he tapped on the glass too. Boris the Devil's Snare reared up in response, waving its tentacles in an eerie resemblance to homage.

'I think Boris likes you,' said Luna.

'Come,' said Voldemort, moving Luna along by placing a hand between her shoulders. 'That's enough work with the plants for today. Stay in here too long and you'll turn green.'

'Wouldn't you like me green? It might make a nice change.'

'No. If I wanted you green, I would have turned you green,' Voldemort said. He shook his head again. 'I can't believe I'm discussing this,' he muttered, almost to himself. 'Go back to the house.'

She did, skipping along stone paths at a half-run, her thoughts on the progress of her Herbology projects. It was such a relief to have something to occupy her own mind, rather than existing solely as the occupying object for the Dark Lord's mind. Active player rather than helpless vessel. Things were looking up, sure as the growing things returned after their winter sojourn.

After washing the dirt off her hands and face Luna decided to go to the library. There was a book she'd wanted to read, a book of fairy tales from the Americas. Her Death Eater bodyguards followed her at a respectful distance, as usual, and Luna twirled through the stacks, looking for the correct section. Voldemort was fastidious about the organisation of his library. Through the tall windows springtime's light poured in generous rays to light up the floor. Luna put her fingers out to touch the light. She could feel it if she stayed still enough.

Into motion again. Where was that book? As though her hands had little minds of their own (or perhaps one mind for each finger, a total of ten) she felt her way toward the right place.

'Where are you, where are you,' she sang. Then, 'Oh!'

Her attention was grabbed by a different tome. The title was in faded gold; the book was bound in black leather, and it read "That Which Will Not Be Named." Luna's eyes widened. If it had no name, how could it have a title? She pulled the book off the shelf. It was about three hundred pages, but its weight felt too heavy for it, as though the pages were made of metal, not parchment. The cover was aged and innocuous and the phrase floated through Luna's head: hidden in plain sight.

Glancing around, she saw she was unobserved, and took a seat on a sofa set in a gap between bookshelves.

'That Which Will Not Be Named,' the title page said again. Luna turned the page. She suddenly understood why she'd wanted the fairy stories; it was so she would find this book, instead. Fate's wheel had turned once again for Luna.

It was an entire handwritten diary about Horcruxes. Handwritten in a thin, wavering hand, the text detailed how they were made, the spells and incantations required, the best object to choose as a vessel. The book seethed with Dark Magic; it thrummed in Luna's ears and whispered to her about power. It almost drowned out her usual singing choir of whimsy that filled the space between her ears. Too bad for the book, she thought, because Luna's head was unavailable for occupation. With calm fingers she turned the pages, learning about the mechanics of it all, dispassionate toward its conclusions.

Voldemort had pushed the boundaries of Horcrux-making even beyond this book. He'd made more than one, and the book spoke only of the single Horcrux. Luna wondered where he had acquired the text; the imprint in the front indicated it had been written in 1941. A Runic signature accompanied the date; Luna peered at it and decided it was a G. Grindelwald? She wondered. This could be that previous Dark Wizard's memoir… and explained why Dumbledore knew (had known) what to do about Voldemort. Luna knew her history better than many people realised.

She flipped through the pages some more. There were some truly terrifying diagrammes that showed the process of Horcrux creation to be complicated, dangerous, and requiring huge amounts of magic.

Then, at the top of a new page, a heading snapped her attention so hard into the book that Luna's neck actually hurt from it. It said 'Of Horcrux Destruction.' The steps were given for the destruction of a Horcrux, either by the maker's will (to allow the soul to cobble itself back together) or by an enemy. The book warned that if an enemy destroyed a Horcrux object, there might not be any sign of it until it was too late. Luna scoffed. Voldemort already knew that…

'What's this?' she murmured. The pages were stuck together. It was only her keen observation of such things as paper weight and thickness that Luna noticed it at all. She picked at the edge of the paper until it peeled apart; the ink had dried the pages together. Her eyes widened further as she read.

'_I planned on making more than one Horcrux after the destruction of my first,' _the author of the book confessed to dry pages, '_until an historical example came to my attention. I cite the example of the German wizard Janibas, who created a Horcrux from an iron tablet, which was destroyed by a rival. His split soul rejoined itself; Janibas then attempted to create a new Horcrux. _

'_However, the soul, ONCE SPLIT and housed and rejoined, cannot be put in a new vessel; to do so will destroy the wizard. In the aforementioned case, the wizard Janibas lost his entire soul and remained in a vegetative state thereafter. The creation of Horcruxes, though the art and science of a great wizard, has limits. Because of this limitation, I did not make a new Horcrux after destruction of prior Horcrux; I concluded the experiment thus._'

'Oh my goodness,' Luna said aloud. 'Oh…' She clutched the book to her chest. Voldemort could not possibly attempt to create a new Horcrux from an already split-and-rejoined soul. It had been an extreme blessing in disguise when Hermione escaped before he did… Luna jumped up and ran through the library. The knowledge splintered in her mind and she had to tell someone, had to show him that she was on his side all along, that it had been fate protecting them… She found Voldemort in his throne room, alone except for Nott scribbling away in the corner.

'Master,' she bowed, extending her hand with the diary, her finger marking the page.

Voldemort tilted his head at her. 'Why did you look through this book?' he asked. There was something cold and dangerous in his voice.

'See, my Lord,' she breathed. 'The pages were stuck together.' She hung back from him, refusing to meet his eyes… she heard him open the book. Heard the silence of him as he read the passage. And then, it occurred to Luna what she had done.

Like an idiot, like a naïve child, like an unthinking fool she had given away the key to his destruction. If he _had_ attempted to make another Horcrux, it would have been the defeat of him! Self-defeat was the sweetest kind for those who watched. Luna had done it again. She was truly the servant of the Dark Lord and the loathing of herself came over her in waves. They were the same sort of waves that she was used to, ending in the nerves of her fingers and toes, but these stung. An uncontrollable trembling began beneath her skin; she shook and shivered.

'Were you that worried about me?' asked Voldemort, mistaking Luna's reasons.

She glanced up at him. A peculiar expression graced his features as well. He was paler than usual, and his mouth was turned down. He inhaled through his teeth. 'I –' Voldemort paused. 'I owe you – gratitude.' He said it as though it killed him.

'Gratitude, Master?'

In the corner, Nott had stopped his writing, watching the exchange with interested eyes.

'Yes,' said Voldemort. 'Gratitude. You are my Seer and you foresaw this, didn't you. That to go through with the procedure would destroy me… so you allowed the escape of my former servant, _Snape_,' (he spat the name) 'so that the greater good would be served. And you took my punishment for it.'

'It is your right to give punishment as you see fit,' Luna mumbled. The truth was, she had not thought of it that way. If Voldemort wanted to imbue her with motives of his safety, she would not contradict him, although it was her stupidity rather than design that had led to it. Luna got the powerful impression that she was light-headed on butterbeer and dancing carelessly through a room of glass, glass that kept breaking, but somehow she had not gotten her feet cut open yet.

'If I had done it…' Voldemort said in a whisper. 'Come here, Luna.'

She noticed that his hands shook slightly as he reached out for her. It was the reaction of disaster barely averted. She allowed him to take her hands within his own. 'You have done well, pet,' he hissed in her ear. 'Know that you have served Lord Voldemort well.'

With a grimace hidden from his face, she nodded and whimpered. It was disgusting the way he spoke of service, as though to serve him was the thing that would make her worthy. Luna hoped that the true test of worthiness had not yet come. She hoped that she had not already failed herself.

* * *

**A/N: **The mention of Janibas and his iron tablet comes from Donald McKenzie's re-telling of the Northern Teutonic mythologies, and is an oblique reference, something I've expanded on as a Horcrux. 


	19. Walpurgis Night

**Author's Notes: **Big thanks to all readers and reviewers! _Wildandclear, Pandora, SailorHecate, selenoliber, Squiggles.Candi, LemoN-X-DroP, The Eraser, Cloud Spinner, Dissolved Starr, raininginforks, Barranca, TheAngelOfSilence, Vasilisa23, MandaPandaAR, jointhedarksidetoday, Maru to Moro, Methylethyldeth, _and _NikeAims_.

And most especially **thank you** to _jointhedarksidetoday_, who was so kind as to create a trailer video for this story on YouTube!! It's gorgeous work and very well done. To find the link, I've put it on my livejournal and also on my profile page here.

Sorry I didn't get a chance to respond to many individual reviews this time… things have been a bit hectic for me, but today I've decided to update Chapter 19, in which it's Dark gala time. This is because I love writing about parties. Please note the 'M' rating.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Walpurgis Night**

'A cauldron for my thoughts,' Luna murmured, alone. It was time for a re-evaluation of herself. A long time ago she'd learnt that when she gathered her thoughts into one place, they bubbled and boiled like a turgid cauldron, and so they did again. But instead of clarity, they formed poison.

After the incident with the book of 'That Which Will Not Be Named,' a small part of Luna gave up and died. Voldemort was winning the war, partly in thanks to her, and it seemed pointless to pretend anymore. Her heart had slowly but surely been wrapped up inside the web. She was the butterfly and he was the spider. It was but a matter of time before he devoured her completely.

For the first time in her young life, Luna Lovegood turned away from the truth. She had to. It was a matter of self-preservation

In the last week in April, when spring descended all over the isle of Britain, and hope bloomed like the flowers, plans were put in motion for a celebration of sorts. Lord Voldemort wanted to reward his Death Eaters, cement their loyalty, and an entire new batch of recruits had to be initiated. For the first time in probably seventy years, a party was being planned at the Riddle House. It would be part Dark revel, part anniversary… for, as Voldemort told Luna, it was sixty years passed since he founded his 'family.'

'On the first of May,' he said, 'what the ancients called Beltane… all the rules broke down. Society took leave of itself. That is what our ultimate goal is, after all… to break society.'

'Is it?' asked Luna. She'd been under the impression that Voldemort's goal was immortality and power for himself.

'Wizarding society must be remade,' said Voldemort. 'And the Muggles must be under the control of wizards. It is only fair. It is the natural progression of history, that the best and most powerful elements control the masses. Do you deny, Luna, that people are incapable of thinking for themselves?'

'I've always thought for myself,' said Luna.

'And see how you were rewarded. Teased and made ridiculous at school. No one understood the mind that was free.'

It was uncomfortable admission, but Luna knew Voldemort was right. People did not like to think for themselves. Most preferred being told what to do and what to believe. Had not her father always said the same thing? Mr. Lovegood's passion had been to open minds up to new possibilities. To educate them and plant the seed of doubt in wizarding authority. It was a goal Luna had always agreed with until hearing it from Voldemort's lips.

'I was once in a similar position, you know,' Voldemort said lightly. 'When I was… young. Living amongst Muggles. Oh, I knew they were dirty, and beneath me, even then… even when I had no idea I was a wizard. They teased me, too, and shunned me. I did not care.'

'You don't care now? Or you didn't care then?'

Voldemort gave her a sharp glance. 'Then and now,' he snapped. 'Such things do not matter to the Dark Lord.'

'I know,' she said. 'They didn't matter to me either.' If the majority of people could not think for themselves, Luna could not blame them for the things they did, unlike Voldemort who despised them for it. She did not judge and he judged all.

He told her to choose something to wear for the Walpurgis Night celebration. She would be a credit to him, he insisted. There would be no doubt in anyone's mind to whom Luna belonged. As the night approached, and the house-elves were kept busy with their preparations for a large party of at least five hundred attendees, Luna did her part. She designed a set of dress robes that would say it all.

Voldemort was very confident in his power. For all the setbacks involving Horcruxes, his ruthless pursuit of power within the wizarding world had continued unabated, and it was said that he had more followers now than even before his first defeat. It was the reason why he was comfortable holding a Dark gala; he wanted his followers to know that they did not always have to wear masks. It was a way of anticipating a victory in which Death Eaters would not longer have to hide on the fringes. Luna was looking forward to the evening if only to keep tabs on who was loyal.

There was no hope of passing the information back to the dwindling ranks of the Order of the Phoenix, but Luna kept track of it all anyway, just in case. The unexpected could happen. A person can be walking in the woods and then, just like that, their life can become unrecognisable. It had happened to her.

The week before the celebration was to commence, Voldemort called Luna to his bedchamber, as was his custom, and took a small rectangular wooden box from his dresser. He placed in her hands with gentle care. 'It's a gift,' he said.

'Oh?' She untied the black ribbon that held the lid shut. In Luna's experience gifts were given from the heart; she could guess that in Voldemort's experience gifts were really bribes. She wondered what he was bribing her for. 'Oh…' she said, made aware of the contents of the box.

It was a deck of tarot cards, each card hand-crafted and finished in transparent silk, their pictures moving as tantalising clues to the future. A gift for a prophetess, to be sure. 'They're very nice,' said Luna. 'I will use them well, for you, Master.'

He smiled. It was meant to be charming but failed somehow. 'I had them commissioned especially for you.'

'Then you have given us both a gift,' she said, bowing her head. His hand petted her hair, long white fingers running through long blonde locks. Her scalp shivered. Placing her hands on his knees, she looked up at him, entreaties in her eyes, unable to help herself anymore.

'You have done better than I expected of you,' he said. A contemplative look came across his pale features and it was the last thing Luna wanted.

If he thought about how she had outwitted him into keeping her alive, he might change his mind about the whole thing. An ego such as Voldemort's could not stand trickery. He needed to know everything. The feminine mystery that Luna cultivated had to be subvert; it had to fascinate unconsciously. Heart pounding with a fear so familiar that it felt like an addiction, Luna moved her hands up his thighs, letting her mouth fall open slightly.

'I can't help myself,' she whispered from her kneeling position.

An actual smirk came over his face. 'Then don't help yourself,' he sneered. The playing field was even once more. The power was solidly in Voldemort's grasp, where it was safest.

Luna's fingers unbuttoned his robes; she was not used to it and fumbled a little. She wondered if it was all right for her to be taking initiative and hoped, once again, that he did not contemplate the reasons behind it. Not for the first time Luna was grateful for Voldemort's human self; as a serpentine creature he had been much more difficult to manipulate and understand. Desire was such a double-edged sword. The fulfillment of it made life worth living; the denial of it was enough to drive a man mad.

No fool was Luna. Voldemort desired the power over a soul. He was a soul-collector, just as he collected the wands of the dead and displayed them in a case. When she submitted to his wishes of her own will, it allowed her to reserve a little bit of herself for the future. She was determined that her wand would never again hang in that cabinet.

Leaning forward over him, spreading his legs a little to give her better access, Luna glanced up at Voldemort once more with her large grey eyes before putting her head down. As always, she felt poisoned by touching him. What a contrast: the fine specimen of manhood before her, and the fiend that lived beneath the skin. Luna wished she could stay only skin-deep, but she could not. Experience, once acquired, could not be undone.

Experience kept her alive once more. She was good at what she did. With practised, rhythmic motions of tongue and hands, she made sure Voldemort forgot who she really was.

After, blushing with shame inside, Luna kissed him on the mouth and asked if she could leave his company, so as to become better acquainted with her new Tarot cards. He dismissed her with one flippant hand.

* * *

_May, the Flower Moon

* * *

_

Across the back garden of the Riddle House, the site of the revel stretched until it faded into the heavily-warded woods. On the lawn were seven huge bonfires, piled high with witchwood and oil, ready to be lit. The walls of the house were wrapped in panels of black silk that rippled in the breeze. The house had the look of something alive, a monster that drew breath, a ship sailing on a sea of dark-green-black grass. Great cauldrons bubbled on the terrace, thick with Enhancement Potions, Invigoration Draft, and more conventional ale and mead. There was a fountain of wine, with Sweet Woodruff blossoms floating along its currents.

In great wreaths, flowers were charmed to hover and spin in wheels above the heads of revelers. Black roses, white lilies, bluebells and purple amaranth, blood-red poppies and sprigs of apple blossoms, yellow daffodils with mouths that yawned toward the sky… they danced on the newly warm air of spring. Twisting branches of hawthorn formed arches and circles. Fixed on the top of wooden posts were the skulls of former enemies. These were slathered with Everburn oil, ready to light up the darkness.

From her round rose window, Luna watched as Theodore Nott ran around the estate, looking harried and snapping orders to the house-elves. Night would fall soon. The guests would arrive. The Death Eaters would parade in strict formation; Voldemort would begin the evening by hosting the feast and setting the Dark Mark on the skin of fresh followers. Then the corruption would be celebrated.

Turning away from the window, Luna sighed and supposed she should get dressed. At the moment she was naked or, as she liked to think of it, skyclad. Unhindered by the stigma of clothes that were not her own. 'Birdy!' she called, and with a pop the house-elf appeared.

'Can you please help me get my dress on?' Luna asked.

'But of course, miss!' Birdy squeaked. 'I have said before, you do not needs a please and thank you for Birdy, miss.'

'Allow me the luxury,' said Luna. She put her arms over her head so that Birdy could float the dress over; she did not want it to become wrinkled.

The silk settled in curves around Luna's frame. It was black but so diaphanous that her white skin shone through. The top was a bodice, laced with silver threads that extended out through the silk in a web pattern. Luna's hair, left long, matched the silver in the dress, the pale of her skin. If she stood back from the mirror and held her arms out, she could just detect the outline of a spider; there were eight long sections of knotted silk that wrapped around Luna like legs of a monster. She twirled on her tiptoes and giggled. It was not a stretch to picture herself as Ariadne, leaving a thread through the Labyrinth…A gossamer string of light so thin that the great bull could not see it.

'My shoes,' she said to Birdy. The house-elf handed her the slippers. Onto her fingers Luna put rings of moonstone and diamond. Around the crown of her head she placed a wreath of morning glory, closed to the night. 'It's time,' she said to her own reflection in the mirror.

On her way down the stairs she met Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. Bella, whose hair grew inordinately fast, wore a thin black shift with a heavy metal belt around her waist; Luna could see that she wore nothing at all beneath. Of course, the woman had always been an exhibitionist, so Luna did not even lift her eyebrows at the sight. The husband, Rodolphus, a man in the shadows of Bella's eyes because he compared unfavourably to the Dark Lord, wore a simple short-sleeved tunic that bragged of the Mark on his arm. They greeted Luna with stiff nods of the head. She nodded back in a similar fashion and continued on.

Luna was under orders. She had a seat at the high table, not next to Voldemort but close enough, and she was to stand in front of the table and wait for his arrival. All the guests would wait. The Dark Lord loved nothing more than a grand entrance. When Luna exited the back doors of the house and onto the terrace, the sight was breathtaking; the house waved and rippled, the flowers danced, the skull torches had been lit. The space was packed with nearly a thousand witches and wizards who hopped on their feet, eager for it all to begin. In the thickening twilight it was impossible to see names or faces. The bonfires waited darkly.

On the end of the high table, Luna awaited the catalyst, the Dark Lord himself. At her left side sat Theodore Nott; she was grateful for it, because there was nothing objectionable about Nott. She could hear Fenrir Greyback salivating down the other end of the table. Bellatrix laughed. The Lestrange brothers whispered together. Walden Macnair brushed his moustache with a finger. The inner circle was on show.

'When will it start?' Luna whispered to Nott.

'Nine,' he whispered back snappishly.

'What will happen?'

'You'll see, Lovegood,' said Nott. 'If he didn't tell you, I'm sure as hell not going to.'

'Sor-ry,' said Luna. 'I've never been to a Walpurgis Night before. I was always in the library.'

'That's because you were in Ravenclaw. Nutters, the lot of you,' said Nott, but Luna thought she saw the shadow of a smile on his thin face, the remembrance of better days, perhaps.

She was about to say something else but he shook his head and stood up straighter; a hush had fallen over the crowd. Something large rumbled in the woods. A ripple of fear passed through the guests. A green glow flickered and spat, growing brighter, until the crowd parted and the light bore forth the Dark Lord.

Voldemort walked through the crowd, red eyes glaring. One by one the guests bowed before him in a wave of deference; many of them shuddered in fear. Nagini slithered along at Voldemort's feet. In an incredible display, he lifted his wand with a circular motion, and Luna gaped as the forest behind him snapped to attention, and the trees in defiance of nature and logic bent forward and bowed, too. The dead silence hung like one of the black silk curtains.

Originally Voldemort had wanted Dementors to accompany his entrance, but Luna had suggested that would put rather a damper on the festivities. As it turned out, his sole self made more of an impact. The way Voldemort walked spoke of invincibility. With soft footsteps he climbed the dais upon which his throne sat; Luna, Nott, and the other Death Eaters at the top table grovelled on their hands and knees when he passed by them.

'Arise, my fellows,' came the sweet command from behind sweet lips. 'Enjoy this celebration of wizard supremacy. You are gods and goddesses on Walpurgis Night. Nothing stands in your way. Follow me, and the rest of the world will be made to see glory and greatness. Your places are assured. Follow me, and let magic reign forever.' He ended his speech with a flourish of his hand, and all seven bonfires sprang into roaring, raging life to coincide with the thunderous applause that rose from the sea of darkness.

Voldemort sat down, signalling that the party should begin, and great tables shimmered into view, loaded down with an impressive feast. Pinwheels of green flame shot across the sky and over the heads of the crowd. A band of sirens, imported from the Mediterranean, struck up a song that was both energetic and hateful.

Luna, who had been expecting some sort of ritual, saw that she had been wrong about Walpurgis Night. It was not the time for the precision of Dark ritual and magic, but was rather a release, an uncontrolled fling. No wonder the Ministry of Magic had never sanctioned it. She picked up her five-tined fork and stabbed a mushroom tart. A sip of wine followed; it was excellent wine with a smooth finish. A Riesling, if she was correct.

Below her, the crowd swayed and chattered. House-elves bore trays of wine, ale, and various other potion cocktails. There was a sort of elegance to the party that impressed Luna as long as she kept her gaze above the heads. The flower wheels were pretty. Bellatrix's screeching laugh fragmented Luna's imagination and she hummed aloud to drown it out, causing Nott to look at her askance.

At the finish of the feast, Voldemort pressed his wand against his Dark Mark. Luna felt a slight tingling in hers, but the order was not for her: shadowy robed figures formed into lines. Their skull masks were on. Their hoods reached for the sky. The military-type parade that followed was backlit by the bonfires, wild flames contrasting the orderly ranks of Death Eaters. The supporters who were not part of the fighting force watched in awe and with cheers and with tears in their fervent eyes. A display of power was compelling to those who did not possess it.

During the marching and demonstration, Luna focused on her toes. She looked up as Voldemort initiated rank after rank of new Death Eaters, pressing his wand on many arms; she noted their faces. None of them mattered.

She hissed to Nagini to come keep her company and fed the snake a dollop of cream from her plate.

* * *

'Hour by hour, the party grows louder!' Luna announced as midnight approached. The siren song was pounding, trilling, intoxicating. Voldemort watched from on high as his followers swung each other around, kissed, drank. In rings they danced around the bonfires, sometimes tumbling unharmed through the flames, laughing and screaming. Flashes of various spells lit the sky. The Dark Mark hovered above the heads of the crowd. The snake came forward out of the skull's mouth over and over again.

Standing from her place at the table, Luna descended the stairs and into the fray. She caught flashes of white, laughing faces and some dark, laughing faces. A dancing couple ran into her; she saw that it was Theodore Nott and Diana Calliope. Someone was doubled over on the ground, laughing hysterically from a Ticklish Charm, and wielding the wand was Greg Goyle. Hands grabbed her around the waist and disappeared just as quickly. She turned; behind her, by the light of a bonfire, a foreign witch and wizard were coupled, swaying back and forth in front of the flames.

There was a great deal of that going on. Staring past the lights of the party, Luna could see shadows in the forest, people re-enacting the union of the ancient gods and goddesses. Bellatrix Lestrange's laugh rose above the noise for a moment, followed by the screams of not one, not two, but three men. The screams sounded dramatic rather than painful. A vague, sick feeling wormed its way through Luna's gut. She had no taste for such things.

The noise from the singing sirens, from shouting and laughter, all tumbled along the landscape to form a confused medley. Luna understood what Walpurgis Night meant. It was not a time for ritual or torture; Voldemort wanted to attract people to his cause, not frighten them away. There was debauchery but not distress. All around her, witches and wizards were letting themselves go to the darkness, drunk and giggling all the way.

'Luna Lovegood?' a weak voice called to her.

Amongst the shadowed crowd, Luna saw the form of a thin man slumped over on a bench, cradling a pint of ale in his hands. His soft eyes glinted in the light. It was Remus Lupin.

'Professor Lupin!' she said. She stepped forward and plopped herself down on the bench beside him. 'I – I guess you're here, too.'

'Yes,' he said, and sounded miserable. 'I had to come.'

'Have you taken the Mark?' she asked, though she already knew he had.

Lupin showed her his defiled left forearm. Beneath the skull and snake, the skin was crisscrossed with scars both old and new. 'I tried so hard,' he whispered. 'It seems the darkness was always fated to take me. I couldn't fight it anymore. I'm so tired, Luna…' He gave a short humourless laugh. 'Luna. The name of my nemesis. Yet we're not enemies, I don't think…'

Even against the orange flames of the fire, the werewolf's face looked pale and sickly. Dark circles showed like bruises beneath his eyes. His mouth was taut and thin and disapproving of what he saw around him, but also disapproving of himself. Luna felt a pang of sympathy. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'I have a Mark too. It doesn't mean anything.'

'It means everything. I've betrayed them…'

'I'm not so sure about sides anymore, Remus,' said Luna matter-of-factly. 'There's the Dark Lord, and there's the Order, but in between them is the Ministry. The Ministry was never nice to werewolves or anyone who wasn't _normal_ in their eyes. You can hardly be blamed for seeking your rights elsewhere.'

A sigh from the ex-professor. 'I'm not seeking rights,' he said. 'I've given up hope of such. No, I made the mistake of allowing anger into my heart… animal anger… I started to lose hope when Sirius died… and I turned after _she_ died.'

'Tonks,' said Luna.

The silence from Lupin confirmed it.

'I'm so sorry,' she said. 'Just… promise me something. You'll still transform, but remember that hope isn't lost. Not quite yet.' She said it more to convince herself, but the note of light in her voice made Lupin's head perk up a little.

'What are you doing here, Luna? We all thought you were dead.'

'I was dead for awhile,' she said. 'I had to be. But nothing dies forever, you know.' On that cryptic note, she stood up and patted him on the shoulder. A gleam of hope and hunger had re-ignited in Lupin's eyes; she thought it best to let him express it on his own. The ongoing fertility rites around them were beginning to affect her. And Lupin was a man; she did not want to affect him. That would mean certain punishment. Instead she left him with a tiny bit more encouragement. 'You will love again, you know. Don't worry.'

'Luna,' he said, grasping her by the wrist. 'Can you stay with me tonight? Just… just to have a familiar face. We can talk about the old times.'

'I can't,' she whispered. Wresting herself from his grasp, she fled through the crowd, unsure of what she was running to or from. Other people tugged at her dress and hair; men, women, groping hands. The tempo of the party rose and rose; she thought it must crest soon, but it did not. Sighs and gasps surrounded her. Luna was a little bit afraid of the mass mood. She knew what people did in groups. They did things they would never do individually. Hyper-aware that her dress was so filmy, so thin, she had to remove herself from the situation… she kept her wand at the ready and ran on the soft grass.

The flaming skull torches flew past her vision. They seemed to grin at her. Raising her eyes toward the house, she gasped, because the house breathed in and out just like a person. Those silk curtains made an impression. After two glasses of wine Luna's imagination spun out of control. Everything around her was alive, _everything_, even the rocks and the house and the chairs and most especially the flames.

A pair of red eyes caught her from her precipitous fall. A summons was contained within the twinned crimson coals that floated in a handsome face. She stumbled forward, her wand still out. 'You _are _too delicate for this sort of thing,' Voldemort whispered to her when she stood, panting, in front of him. 'Come with me.' He turned on his heel and she followed like an obedient dog.

They ended up near the greenhouses. The noise from the party faded to a dull roar; they were alone here. A row of oak trees separated the gardens from the forest. Voldemort's breath was quiet and calm as he walked and Luna trailed his footsteps through the dirt. 'Do you know the tradition of this night?' he asked.

'Not much of it,' she admitted.

'Witches and wizards would gather, as they are here, and dance through flames. They would recreate the union of the god and the goddess. Girls would run through the forest, pursued by the symbolic Hunter, and when their pursuers caught up, they would be taken. It was a celebration of… fertility. Of life.'

'Of life?' Luna almost laughed. 'Is that why you have skulls for torches?'

Voldemort shrugged. 'I modify the old traditions as I see fit. My followers should be mindful of the penalties of opposing me.'

'I think they are ever-mindful of that,' said Luna. She knew she was. Behind her, she could feel the gentle hum of life in the forest, although she could not hear it over the music. All but her face and hands had disappeared into shadow. Through her slightly muddied mind, she wished all of her could disappear, and her Hunter would not find her.

Voldemort trailed his fingers along her silk-covered arm, reminding her that it was too late. 'This night is a necessary departure from my methods,' he said. 'The mediocre, the weak, the fearful… they have no understanding of what needs to be done to take power. The hard truth would terrify most of them; they are like cowering sheep. I am the wolf. My Death Eaters are my pack. But this…' he stepped behind Luna, hands on her shoulders, and nodded at the ongoing revel from their dark, quiet distance, 'this sort of thing makes the wavering mind come to realise that a world with me in charge is not all misery.'

He made Luna sick. The arrogance and pride rolled off his skin to catch her ill opinion. It took a concerted effort not to squirm beneath his touch.

'Luna…' he said.

His hands were at the level of her thighs; he gathered the material of her dress and ripped it easily apart. He spun her around to face him and pressed his body up against hers, causing her to stumble backwards until she was up against the trunk of one of the mighty oak trees. Voldemort's movements were rapid and violent. His spidery white hands flashed in the darkness. As Luna leaned her head back against the tree, she asked the oak for strength, because that was what it was known for. The oak answered her plea. A fiery-bonfire sort of clarity flooded her senses. It was a re-enactment, that was all. She had a part to play. She ought to be used to it. When it came time, she spread her legs for him, hooked them around his back, and he laughed.

He took her hard and without mercy. It would have been unbearable had she not been pretending that she was a tree, not a girl. For every invasion she met him equally. Luna's bones were limp but her muscles were not; she felt inside-out. Voldemort's jaw was clenched and his eyes hard when he finished. He did not catch her when she slumped over against the tree-trunk, exhausted; instead he left her there.

Through long eyelashes Luna watched his dark figure retreat back into the night, toward the group, his place of power. Drained once more, she let out a sigh of hopelessness. His was a mockery of life. To take and never give was to miss out on half of it. 'Curses be upon you, Lord Voldemort,' she whispered as sleep took her.


	20. Persuasions

**Author's Notes: **Thank you, reviewers! _SailorHecate, selenoliber, SSJ Leia, Lrnd, Vasilisa23, SarahColdheart, raininginforks, wildandclear, LemoN-X-DroP, Squiggles.Candi, Maru to Moro, Cloud Spinner, TheAngelOfSilence, _and_ LNluvsHostile17_.

This is the last sort of transition chapter... Voldemort's actions are something to be watched.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended. Also, Voldemort paraphrases Nietzsche, and Luna quotes the Christian Bible, Mark 8:36.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

**Persuasions**

'Preserving the wizarding world,' Luna read aloud, folding her copy of the newspaper so she could read it better. She took a minute to discern every fifth letter, looking for the hidden meaning of the article, but then realised it was unnecessary. The meaning was clear.

The week after the Dark gala, an editorial had appeared in the pages of the _Daily Prophet_, advocating the support of Lord Voldemort's 'reforms.' It was a compelling argument with the perfect blend of reason, wizard's pride, and subtlety. Luna suspected it had been penned by Voldemort himself, but it appeared under the by-line of a prominent, non-Death-Eater member of the wizarding community. The Beltane celebrations had been a success in that they turned many waffling wizards into full supporters.

In retaliation, Harry Potter gave an interview to the _Prophet_ that outlined the many atrocities committed by and for Voldemort, as if the world needed reminding. Or perhaps it did. Many people had short attention spans and would sway wherever the prevailing winds took them.

Luna, who was prey in the madness of Walpurgis, recovered and found that she actually enjoyed using the Tarot cards Voldemort had given her. They were pretty and informative, style and substance. Just the way she liked things. She did her readings for him in the bare throne room, sitting cross-legged inside a circle of candles, with Voldemort directing her queries from his seated position on the carved wooden throne. It was always a thrill to turn over a new card and see what the future would bring. So far the cards had accurately predicted the successful alliance of the African Vodoun practitioners; the Death Eaters' ranks were creeping across the world.

In private, in her own room, Luna had asked the cards other things, too. She had not liked their predictions and so her mind remained quiet about it.

Voldemort's behaviour had… changed. After Walpurgis Night, he was tender. He made sure not to hurt her. He treated her, in fact, like something fragile that might break. It worried Luna that Voldemort was bothering to use his charm, his winning manners, on her. That meant he wanted something. He looked at her with a light in his eyes, a radiance towards her, and she warmed to it as any human being would. However, such civility coming from Voldemort could not be good for her.

They dined together every night now. Luna began to feel like an addiction. She was more herself than ever before, now that she had no hope of escaping the Dark Lord. If she was going to live and die, she wanted to be herself while she did it. 'You should tell your Death Eaters to keep more open minds,' Luna told him over twin glasses of wine on a Saturday evening. 'I got into rather an argument with Mr. Lestrange about the existence of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.'

'Which Lestrange?'

'Rabastan.'

'He took the correct position that the Crumple-Horned Snorkack is, in fact, imaginary?'

Luna rolled her eyes. 'Not you, too. They're real! I've seen them!'

'Where, for Merlin's sake? In your dreams?'

'In Sweden.'

'Do you have any evidence of this creature?' Voldemort asked. He was beginning to grow bored with the subject already; she could see it in the way his eyes wandered.

'My father published it in the _Quibbler_. Of course, I know you don't read it.'

'You might be surprised,' said Voldemort, tilting his head a little. She always thought he looked like a snake when he did that.

'Really?' A tiny measure of hope dropped out of Luna's mind to land in her voice. She did not know she still had hope inside her. 'Recently?'

'Perhaps,' he said, realising too late that he might have given her word of her father's welfare. Luna knew what it meant: that Mr. Lovegood was still alive and publishing. Besides, if her father had been harmed, Voldemort would have used it as a weapon over her. Her ignorance meant her father's safety.

She smiled, slow and sure. 'For a man so concerned with evidence, you take the art of Divination seriously enough.'

'I know the difference between art and artifice,' said Voldemort.

'You walk the line every day,' said Luna.

'Don't get too comfortable with it. Lord Voldemort does not tolerate familiarity.'

'I could not hope to acquaint myself with you, Master,' she said. 'I know better. You are beyond definitions.'

This pleased him. The hellish light gleamed behind his eyes, a fire stoked by appeasement. 'Even such a mind as my own requires release once in awhile. That is why you are so useful.'

'I'm happy to be useful,' Luna whispered, not meaning it.

'You lie,' he said. 'But that is because you still cling to your ideals of right and wrong. You feel guilty with me. You feel as though it's your fault.' He hissed his words, savage pleasure behind them, self-congratulations at his ability to cause pain and grief.

'Bad things seek to destroy good things,' said Luna. 'That's why our dance is not yet over.'

'Bad? Good? There is no line between them. Good is the will to power, power itself. Bad is what is born of weakness. There is nothing else.'

'There's happiness,' said Luna.

Voldemort smiled something evil. 'And happiness is nothing more than getting what you want. Power, in a word. The feeling that all resistance is overcome.'

'If what you say is true,' Luna said slowly, 'then you are happy and good. I am unhappy and bad. And there are no lines between us. Just circles.'

'A dance,' Voldemort murmured.

'But, my Lord, there's something wrong with that. Because I know that I'm good. Yet I do not have power… can it be that I desire something other than power?'

'Such as _love_?' He spat the word.

'Clouds. Lemon tarts. Laughter. The scent of grass. A smile.'

'You are a sentimental fool,' said Voldemort. 'Is that what it takes to win your love? Lemon tarts and smiles?'

'To win my love…' Luna echoed. 'I can't imagine why you would want to know.'

'That is a feat, to have extended beyond the power of your imagination.'

'I'm a Seer now, not a Dreamer,' Luna said. 'My focus is on the facts, Master.' He had no idea how true she spoke, or how false. She dreamed what she Saw. For a moment that old floating sensation was back… as though nothing around her was real. If she pushed at the stone walls hard enough, they would give way… but to what?

* * *

_June, the Rose Moon

* * *

_

The greenhouses were blooming beneath the direct sunshine of midsummer. The days grew long and full of promise… except for the stain on the landscape that was the Riddle House. It drew darkness into itself and kept it there, the black spot on the tablecloth of land. It was unfortunate, Luna thought, that she was stuck there. Her summers had always been happy, if not tinged with bittersweet because it was two at the Lovegood house instead of three. She and her father had filled Kitty's gap by travelling. The world itself was a saucy siren.

Voldemort told her stories about his travels as a young man. He had been everywhere and nowhere. In India he found Nagini; in Haiti he'd learned the spell to create an Inferi; in Egypt he'd learned arts so Dark and so ancient that he would not elaborate on them, holding them behind his tongue like a remembered sweet. Luna begged him to tell her, begged him the way he liked it, but still he refused. That was all right; it was not about the telling. It was about the begging.

One day she sat in his throne room. The ever-present Theodore Nott was at his desk, charming a stack of quills to respond to his voice. Luna was the only other Death Eater in the room, aside from Voldemort; she was ensconced in her circle of candles. They lit up her face and hair with gold that matched the sun streaming through the open windows. Next to the tall window, Voldemort stood, an imposing silhouette against the summer. A slight breeze came in the window, ruffling his dark hair and making Luna's candles flicker. He seemed to taste the ripe scent on the air.

'Nott, write this down,' Voldemort commanded. 'Tarot reading, followed by the date… what is the date?'

'Friday the seventh of June, Master.'

'Yes. Subject is… something I'm not going to tell either of you.'

Luna then had the unshakeable impression of Voldemort as a small boy with a jar of snakes behind his back. A boy with a silly little secret. She smiled to herself. He would not be happy with her if he knew what she was thinking.

'Luna, a cross spread.'

She straightened up and took a deep breath. In one nostril and out the other, she felt her energy equalise. She could feel Voldemort's keen eyes on her as she put herself into a partial trance. The rational part of her wondered how much of Divination was just putting on a good show. Another part of her was grateful once again for the Tarot cards, because they left room for withholding the facts, unlike her dreams. She rocked back and forth, feeling out the energy of the cards, really doing her best.

'Go ahead, Luna.'

She pulled one card, two, three, four, five. They formed an equal-armed cross before her. Balance and harmony in all things. Where there was dark, there was light. Where there was male, there was female. She turned over each card and her heart started to pound.

On the left side was the High Priestess… the Prophetess. On the right side was the Devil. Below them was the Four of Pentacles.

'A Seer on one side, a Devil on another,' said Luna. 'One controls the other.' She turned over the middle card. 'Between them is… the Six of Chalices. One gives love and the other takes. The gift of one will benefit the other.' She might have cried, because she knew she was the one giving it all away.

'The outcome…' Luna whispered. Although her eyes were closed as she turned over the next card, she could feel Voldemort staring. 'The World. A great achievement. A plan becomes a tangible success.'

She opened her eyes and saw the corners of Voldemort's mouth upturned in a controlled smile. The cards had told him what he wanted to hear.

Unable to help herself, she said, 'What does it profit a man to gain the world and lose his own soul?'

'What is a soul without the world?' Voldemort countered. 'A helpless thing, weak and pulled by forces greater than himself.' A small, high-pitched laugh escaped his lips. 'You have done well, Luna Lovegood. You have no idea how well. Nott, seal the parchment and give it to me.'

'Yes, Master.'

For days Luna wondered what the reading had been about. It concerned her, quite obviously. But why would Voldemort care about their relationship, her feelings for him? And what achievement could possibly be concerned with her? Early on in her captivity, it had been established that she was not a mover and shaker within the Order of the Phoenix. Everything she knew had already been told. Her place was set. She was Voldemort's link to the powers of fate, the greater destiny that moved them all. It should have been enough.

His fingers trailed across her abdomen on a night when the summer air was warm and heavy. They were outside; the full moon's light bathed them in silver. He suggested a trip to Central America; would she like to see the pyramids built by Mayan wizards?

'I would,' she said, although a part of her was sickened by the thought of great wonders tainted by his patronage.

'This is for you,' he said, conjuring a single white rose and handing to her. The rose was perfect.

'Why?' she whispered, horrified.

Voldemort's eyes were innocent for their redness, far too innocent. 'Is it so hard to believe that I enjoy your company, Luna?' he asked.

'Yes, my Lord,' she said. The temptation arose to crush the clean white petals in her hand, to stomp on the gift. 'You do not tolerate familiarity.'

He smiled a dishonest smile, although it was tremendously charming.

'I don't believe you,' she hissed. For a moment she reminded herself of Nagini in a temper.

'If you give me your love,' he said, 'I will not forsake you.'

Luna understood, crystalline-like. He knew he would not turn her by fear, so he was trying love. What a vast joke. Her fingers caressed the soft white rose petals. They felt like human skin… they felt like _his_ skin. 'You're not there yet, my Lord,' she said. 'Not by half.'

She pretended that she did not feel a pang of guilt at his hurt expression. She tried to remind herself that it was just that: an expression. Not a feeling. Not anything real.

* * *

The baffling behaviour of Lord Voldemort was explained when Luna lunched with Bellatrix, out on the terrace, on a fine June day. Both women wore light summer robes; Luna in white and Bellatrix in green. They were like a cloud and a tree. A fine chilled wine was served with the luncheon; perhaps that was why Bellatrix sank back into her metal chair and had a lazy smile on her gaunt face. It certainly explained the truths that followed.

'There aren't many women amongst his followers,' Luna observed, twirling her fork.

'Most women are weak,' Bellatrix scoffed. 'They're more concerned with family than with loyalty to wizard-kind.'

'Family is a different sort of loyalty, I suppose,' said Luna.

'If your family is pureblood,' said Bellatrix. 'My own… had its share of _blood-traitors_.'

Luna wondered vaguely if all Slytherin students had the ability to hiss like snakes, even if they were not full Parselmouths as Voldemort. Every one she'd ever known had been able to do it.

'I don't know about my family,' Luna said. 'I have a great-aunt who married a Muggle.'

'Typical,' Bellatrix muttered.

'I didn't know them, though.' As though that might remove the dishonour in Bella's eyes.

'The pureblood families produce greatness,' said Bellatrix. Flames of fanaticism leapt in her eyes, enhanced by the direct sunlight. 'We will go down in history as the great preservers of wizards. Without us, they would die out and inter_breed_ with Muggles and pollute our world. Disgusting. No, with us, things will go far.'

'With us?' Luna said lightly, surprised that Bellatrix included her in the description of greatness.

'Oh, yes,' said Bellatrix. 'You have no idea.'

It seemed to Luna that she was hearing that phrase a lot these days. Fortunately, she knew exactly how to get Bellatrix to tell her… a provocation would do nicely. 'I doubt it,' said Luna. 'I'm simply a prisoner to his wishes.'

'Don't fret, Loony. You'll prove your worth to him soon enough.' Bellatrix gave a small giggle as though she knew something Luna did not.

'No, I won't,' Luna contradicted.

'Yes, you _will_,' said Bellatrix.

'How do you know?' _And when did you get so calculating, Luna Lovegood?_ added the voice of Conscience.

'The Dark Lord trusts me above all others,' said Bellatrix, flipping her shoulder-length hair behind her ears. 'Through these years I have been his most faithful lieutenant…' she gave a sigh of happiness. Her choices had always been simple.

'I highly doubt he trusts you with his plans for me,' said Luna. Goading her.

'He does!' Bellatrix declared. Her laughter was stronger now and less sane. 'I know things, Loony, that you cannot imagine… he is brilliant… nothing will stand in his way after you –'

'After I… what?'

'Never mind.' Bellatrix waved a hand dismissively and gulped down the remainder of her wine. 'You'll find out soon enough.'

Luna mimicked Bellatrix's smug tone. 'You just don't know,' she taunted. 'He doesn't trust you nearly as much as you'd like to believe.' In a moment, the table settings might go flying in a long-brewing duel between the two women.

Bella's eyes flashed. 'Why, you little bitch. How dare you question me? When I say I know, trust me,' she snorted, 'I _know_.'

'No, you don't,' Luna said obstinately. 'If my function was that great… I would know by now. I am his Seer, after all. He'd have asked me about it.' On the edge now; Luna was desperate to find meaning behind what she did know. The Tarot reading. Voldemort's sudden attention to, and manipulation of, her feelings.

'It's greater than you deserve,' Bellatrix spat.

Talking in bubbles. Wine bubbles.

'Right,' said Luna. 'Mm-hmm. Sure. What would that be, Bellatrix? Dying for him or something?'

The peal of laughter gave Luna chills down her bare arms. Merlin, but that woman sounded like a hyena.

'Oho,' Bellatrix shouted. 'She _is_ a Seer! Has he mentioned it?' Her head swung back and forth, so caught up in herself that Bellatrix did not stop to think. She did not stop talking.

For a moment, Luna knew exactly what Voldemort meant when he complained about the competencies of his Death Eaters.

'You are a stupid girl,' said Bellatrix. 'Our Lord, however, is a genius. His studies of ancient magic have led him to this conclusion… that bastard Potter served a purpose after all… the Dark Lord will soon have the same protection running through his veins. You see, Loony, he will have a love sacrifice, too. Although Potter's blood already allowed him to harm the boy, our Lord did not have invincibility above and beyond that. He's discovered a way to become physically invincible.'

'But – _how?_' Luna asked. 'I don't see how it's possible!'

'An ancient ritual,' said Bellatrix. 'You will give your life for him because you love him. And don't deny that you do, Luna. No one could be as close to him as you are and fail to love him…' An adoring expression came across the Death Eater woman's face.

'I don't understand,' Luna said slowly. 'You're being so vague. That could mean anything. I don't think you know.' One last pinprick into Bella's pride, and there went the balloon, losing all its helium. The information poured into Luna's hand like a million tiny gems.

'You're in love with him, and he's going to use that,' said Bellatrix. 'You get to be a love sacrifice. You'll give your life for his. Blood protection. Just like the Potter brat.'

'But I'm not related to him.'

'No… but you've _shared_ him. That's more than enough to invoke the ancient magic.' Bella's eyes danced with an odd medley of glee and jealousy.

'Oh,' said Luna.

'And it's more,' Bellatrix continued. 'When you give your life on the sacrificial altar, when he kills you himself, he'll take your soul. It will be like a layer of protection around him. If someone tries to kill him, they'll kill you instead. Like a cat with nine lives. You're his backup. But you have to do it willingly for it to work… you will, won't you, Luna? I would… but you're the Chosen One. The inner circle is going to a place in the Forbidden Forest… a Druid grove that was once used for such sacrifices. It hums with power. You're very fortunate… What a glorious end for such a young thing!' Then Bella smiled deep and satisfied and unaware that she'd given away the game. She was drunk.

Luna gave a false smile in return. 'Should I speak with him about this?' she said, just to put a needle in Bella's confidence.

'No!' the request punctured the wine-induced fog in the woman's eyes. 'Swear to secrecy, Luna. It's only because I like you that I told you.' Caution and remorse crept into her voice. 'Dammit. I wasn't supposed to breathe a word of it. You tricked me!'

'I won't say anything,' Luna promised. 'Unbreakable. I won't.' The Unbreakable Vow of silence, as it turned out, was unnecessary; Luna had no intention of letting on how much she knew.

* * *

Covertly, quietly, Luna sought out the one man left who might help her. She found Remus Lupin hurrying away from the house after a brief summons; he did not stay at headquarters but rather roamed with the other werewolves. He was alone, which was a stroke of luck for Luna, and she called out to him in a loud whisper, enjoying the oxymoronic tone of her voice.

'We have a chance,' she said quietly. 'He's going to attempt another ritual for his immortality… or, invincibility, rather.' Luna did not give details of what it was, lest Lupin be compromised, but the alert, hopeful look in his warm brown eyes told her he was interested. 'The Forbidden Forest. There's a clearing there, an ancient place. Hagrid might know it. If we can get word to the Order… then I can guarantee the Dark Lord will be there at a certain time and place with only me and a few other Death Eaters.'

'Luna,' Lupin whispered, voice shaking slightly. 'This can work. We can do this.'

'Of course we can. You can. You roam free – send a Patronus to the Order.'

'Wait,' said Lupin. 'They won't trust me. Not after I've taken this.' His hand moved unconsciously to the Dark place on his arm hidden beneath his ragged sleeve.

'They will,' said Luna. 'Even if they suspect a trap, it only means they'll send many more of their ranks than normal. It can only work. We must have faith in our friends, Remus!'

It was the first time she'd ever used his first name and it felt peculiar coming off her tongue.

The plea worked, though; Lupin set his mouth into a hard line. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes. This has gone on long enough. If I can save you… maybe I can save myself. Maybe they'll take us back.'

'Of course they will,' Luna reassured. A tingle of panic plucked at the edges of her mind because of the implications of their plot; would she really leave Voldemort? Could she? But she shoved this aside, too, because contemplation would spin her into circles from which she might never escape. It was time for action uncharacteristic of her.

In the precious few minutes they had, they decided on their course of action, Lupin and Luna; Lupin would follow the pathways of dark magic to Apparate near the circle in the forest. His Dark Mark would help with that. He would send up jets of light to alert the Order of where they were. All Luna had to do was stay as alive as she could. The taste of adventure burned. One last gasp, one last chance, and it was do or die.

The tears choked in her throat and never made it to her eyes; she felt simultaneously proud and fearful. Finally she was taking matters into her own hands. Something inside of her grew and changed then, and Luna was not sure she wanted it.


	21. To Boldly Go

**Author's Notes: **Many thanks, readers and reviewers: _TheAngelOfSilence, a fan, selenoliber, raininginforks, LemoN-X-DroP, foeldesilajos, wildandclear, SailorHecate, Barranca, Sabaku no Mizu, Lrnd, Vasilisa23, Callia, twighunter, Jewel, _and most especially _MandaPandaAR. _Mandy, I think you deserve some kind of fandom award for always leaving such lovely, sweet, and long reviews on stories :-)

Now, on to the chapter… This turns out to be rather a bad day for Voldemort.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Recap from Chapter 20: 

_In the precious few minutes they had, they decided on their course of action, Lupin and Luna; Lupin would follow the pathways of dark magic to Apparate near the circle in the forest… All Luna had to do was stay as alive as she could. The taste of adventure burned. One last gasp, one last chance, and it was do or die._

_The tears choked in her throat and never made it to her eyes; she felt simultaneously proud and fearful. Finally she was taking matters into her own hands. Something inside of her grew and changed then, and Luna was not sure she wanted it.

* * *

_

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**To Boldly Go**

The sacrifical rite would take place in the Forbidden Forest. Voldemort had known for years about the ancient circle there, the place of tremendous power, the place seething with Dark Druidic magic. It was in the deepest part of the Forest. Because the woods were overrun with demons and Dementors, the participants in the ritual would travel via Portkey. Only Voldemort knew the exact location.

He was in a better mood than anyone could remember. With his ranks swelling with supporters, the Order on the run, and Ministry routed from effectiveness, he had reason to be proud. He had even decided that his human appearance did wonders for his popularity. There was many a witch who would support a public figure based on physical attractiveness alone. Laughing, joking even with his Death Eaters, Voldemort was on a roll of victory. The momentum of the man seemed unstoppable. Never had sanctuary been so far away for Luna.

This feeling of abandonment by the light was not so much to do with her imminent demise as with the terror of failure. If she had to die, she could accept that; Luna had known for many moons that death could descend anytime from the wand of her master. Her hope hung by a thread; everything was on the slumped shoulders of Remus Lupin now. Part of her wished that if Lupin failed, and Voldemort discovered the betrayal, that he would kill her outright in his rage and so she would not have to die for the Dark Lord's strength.

Days were filled with twisting hands and bitten lips. Voldemort issued commands like a machine. The puzzle was knitting itself together. Every chance the Dark Lord had to turn back, to do something right, he barrelled on past, intent on destroying the spark within him. Luna could not imagine such self-hatred and self-glorification wrapped up so tightly together. Yet, the impossible was before her eyes, and ran his hands over her body, and murmured things about how she was his 'pet' and his 'loyal creature.'

_He has to de-humanise me,_ she thought to herself when he said such things. _I'm not real. How could any of this be real?_

With no further allies in the house, Luna spent her time listlessly and did not bother to eat anymore. She did drink her pumpkin juice. She read things to Nagini. She finally glanced through the book of fairy-stories in the library. Finally. Everything was done finally. The end was approaching. 'For better or for worse,' she whispered to herself, 'in sickness and in health.' And by her death she would keep the Dark Lord.

She discovered that her greatest fear was not death, but the loss of herself. It was a fine distinction.

Luna's loss would happen during a fortuitous alignment of the stars and the new moon. It hurt Luna to think she would be hidden, too, and made dark. Buried or burned? That was the last choice available to her body. She had a strong temptation to request to Voldemort that he not turn her into an Inferi; that would be too strange, to have a body that was and was not Luna Lovegood, terrorising the neighbourhood. Somehow she doubted she'd put much fear into anyone. Her body had a mind of its own sometimes and Voldemort would likely find her Inferi self wandering off on some aimless whim.

But she was not supposed to know about the plot; she'd sworn to Bellatrix that she would not show her forewarning to the Dark Lord. Besides, he was too preoccupied with his own plans to worry about what Luna knew or didn't know. It became a game for him, so secure was he in his course of action.

'What do you see for the future, pet?' Voldemort would ask her, with the glint of knowledge behind his eyes.

Luna's eyelids would drop closed. 'My dreams are dark, my Lord. And when I foresee the future, everything is black. I'm worried.' She would blink at him, worriedly.

'Oh dear,' he would say. Mockery and amusement.

'Shouldn't you be worried, too, my Lord?'

'No… the Dark Lord is not bothered by your lack of Sight. Not this time. Fear not, little Luna, the greatest is yet to come… you will see…' Then he would wander off, leaving her cold.

* * *

The night could not make up its mind whether it wanted to be chilly or pleasant. A wind rustled through the trees, creating gooseflesh on Luna's skin, and then it would die down again to leave a warm, still blanket of air in the space around her. Torches were staked into the ground around her to form a large circle. 

The clearing in the darkest part of the Forbidden Forest was older than time, or so it felt. The trees stopped abruptly, their branches twisting away to avoid the circular space, creating an odd sort of wall of growing wood. The centre was open to the stars winking bright but distant. The clearing was about twenty metres across. There was enough room for Voldemort, Luna, and the fifteen trusted Death Eaters who had come to the gathering, invitation only.

The soil beneath their feet was black and dead. It was more like coal, like a blank negative, a rejection of life. Luna could hear the echoes of old atrocities committed here. They left thin, keening screams above the range of ears. She wore a pure white dress against it. Voldemort, in contrast, was all in black. The Death Eaters were both white and black; they wore their robes and their masks. It felt balanced.

In the woods surrounding them, Luna could hear the pacing footsteps of the guards. Inferi; Dementors; Werewolves, untransformed because it was new moon. There were not many guards, however; Voldemort did not want to be interrupted or distracted. It had been a stroke of utmost luck that he'd chosen the werewolves to guard the circle; Remus Lupin was one of the outer guards. Lupin was the key ingredient in the victim's last-minute plan.

'Form the circle,' Voldemort instructed his most loyal Death Eaters. 'Except you,' he hissed to Luna, holding her next to him by grasping her wrist.

The Death Eaters obeyed him in silence. Their robes rustled along the ground as they stepped back to create the circle. Somewhere, very far away, an owl hooted in the night. Luna inspected her fingernails; they looked pretty in the golden flickering torchlight. Her fingers were awfully _long_, though. Philosopher's hands, someone had once told her. The Dark Lord had philosopher's hands too.

Luna's eyes studied each of the fifteen Death Eaters in turn. There were the Lestrange brothers; there was Nott the Elder and Nott the Younger; there was Goyle or Crabbe, hard to tell which. There was Dolohov. There was Greyback. Each was easily identifiable by their height, their mouths beneath the masks, their vague auras that floated around their heads. Luna noticed Bellatrix to her right; the woman seemed nervous about something. Her mouth was taut and twisted, her hands gripped her wand too tightly, and she kept standing on the balls of her feet as if restless.

Well, Luna was nervous, too. She was about to die. Voldemort held the Tibetan skull medallion in his hand; it would be the vessel for Luna's entire soul. It was to be a clever modification of the Horcrux, as Luna understood it.

Instead of splitting his own soul, Voldemort would gain _her_ soul, and would wear it about his neck. If someone tried to kill him, it would destroy her and leave him intact. A cat of nine lives, except Voldemort had just this one left. She was to be prisoner without body, without voice, without mind, languishing inside an artefact for as long as the Dark Lord chose to keep her. The way Luna's luck was running, that might be forever.

Even the natural effects of aging would be stopped by the sacrifice; the years would take Luna's spirit, but not Voldemort's. Her life for his. An ancient exchange.

The torches flared up bright like golden stars. _Burning_, thought Luna, _I'll burn. Like they used to put to flame the sacrificial body_. She floated a few feet up off the ground, subject to the Levicorpus charm, feeling weightless. The ritual began.

Voldemort spoke the incantations in a language older than language. Luna had never heard anything like it before. His tongue rolled the words into shining circles that floated on the air. Shivers ran down Luna's skin; it was the Darkest, oldest sort of magic. It occurred to her that shivers might be the last sensation she ever felt. The others in the circle were still as statues, watching he who truly was Master, pushing the limits of magic beyond their comprehension. It was like watching an artist paint, except that Voldemort's medium was magic itself.

Because Luna was on her back, levitated several feet off the ground, she had a clear view of the stars above her. She watched as a star dropped from the sky. She followed its blazing path until it disappeared. 'Make a wish,' she murmured behind unmoving lips, so that Voldemort would not hear her.

The incantations were finished. Voldemort gazed down at her with something approaching… tenderness. His eyes burned holes in her. He raised his wand.

Luna ignored him. Instead she watched the sky for shooting stars… there was another one… and another… and then she saw they were not shooting stars at all. They were jets of light. Someone in the woods was sending a signal. _Lupin_, she thought. _Hurry!_

When she glanced back at Voldemort, her breath caught on her lips. He did look magnificent. Dark, red, glaring, but his mouth formed the shape of regret as he prepared to kill her and steal her soul. There was a moment of hesitation, Luna could see it… she opened her mind to him. '_You don't have to do it_,' she said in her thoughts.

His brow twitched. More hesitation. And in that moment, Luna realised that perhaps she did love him after all. The feeling was terrifying because it meant that the sacrifice would work. If Voldemort made the move, of course… the spell would be a complicated one and Luna somehow felt her rescuers nearby. They had mere seconds left and then everything would turn upside down.

'My Lord?' Bellatrix interrupted.

He whirled to face her, turned in violent wrath. 'Do not interrupt me!' he shrieked. 'I will kill you!'

'My Lord, the sky!' she cried anyway, and pointed upwards.

The Order of the Phoenix swooped down on brooms, in red robes the colour of blood in the night, their wands spurting wordless curses. Three Death Eaters fell immediately. In the woods, a scream of rage, a shout, a very large interruption, indeed.

Voldemort's magic released Luna and she fell onto her back, hitting the hard charcoal-y ground with a painful thud. 'Battle formation,' came the terse command. Then he muttered so low that only Luna could hear him. 'How did they find us?'

She smiled a little and scrambled to her feet. Her wand was in Voldemort's robes, so she stayed close to him, awaiting her opportunity to grab it.

Alerted by Bellatrix, the Order gave up their silent flight and the air around them exploded with sudden shouts. A command by Harry Potter. Luna nearly cried aloud at hearing his voice after so many months.

'_Avada Kedavra!'_ One of the Lestrange men took down an Order member and the red robe fluttered like a limp cardinal's wings, off the broom and onto the ground.

'_Crucio!_'

'_Sectumsempra!_'

'_Incohare Calx!_'

'_Protego!_'

Rage flying. Luna noticed that the Order seemed to have replenished their ranks; there were at least thirty of them. As they shouted she heard American accents, French accents, Spanish accents. It was no longer a War of the Roses. She saw Hermione's bushy hair fly past her. And Luna noticed that the Death Eaters were not the only ones using Unforgivable curses. Her hand clapped to her mouth as she watched Harry Potter calmly utter the Killing Curse; a jet of green spat from his wand and felled Rabastan Lestrange.

'Away!' Voldemort shouted.

Luna took Voldemort's extended hand, ready to side-along Apparate, but with a deft twist of the arm she reached inside his robes and plucked her own wand out. 'Sorry,' she whispered into his ear as she twirled away from him.

Something incoherent spread across his face.

Luna felt a stranger's strong arms grab her from behind, yanking her away from Voldemort, and she felt fear. 'My Lord,' she said.

It all happened so quickly after that. The Order swarmed like red bees over the site. Harry Potter, his face thunderous with courage, raised his wand toward Voldemort. 'Look up, you bastard,' Harry said.

Voldemort gave a quick smile. 'It won't work,' he said. 'I remain immortal to you.'

'No, you don't,' said Harry with a return grin that was savage. 'See, we lured Nagini off of the grounds of your headquarters. She's already dead.'

'No!' Luna gasped loudly. The two adversaries spared her a glance; Voldemort with surprise and Harry with disgust. Luna prayed that Harry was bluffing about the pet snake, for Nagini was her unanticipated friend.

'Enough,' said Harry. 'I'm ready to finish this. _Avada Kedavra!'_

Voldemort tried to counter with another spell, but it did not matter. Harry's Killing Curse took. There was a scream, a flash of black, a wail that was silenced midway.

Bellatrix Lestrange lay dead on the ground.

'Thank you for that, Potter,' said Voldemort. Luna could hear the white anger mixed into his smooth voice. 'You've inadvertently helped me this evening. Until next time.' The Dark Lord's glance skipped over Luna, who was held captive by the red-robed arms of someone she did not know. Then in eerie silence he disappeared, dis-Apparated away, followed in rapid succession by the remaining Death Eaters.

For an abrupt moment the ancient clearing was a tableaux of red statues. Eyes stared at an empty space, so recently occupied by the Dark Lord, now just another drifting patch of atmosphere. Luna felt a lump in her throat. She could not conceive of not being with _him_ anymore. What would she say now? What would she do? A wave of regret pushed up from her gut; she should have Apparated along with him. Then at least she would know how to act.

'Luna?' said a voice that cut through the stillness.

It was Ginny Weasley. Her left hand looked to be hit with a bone-breaking hex, judging by the way she cradled it to her side, but her pretty face did not show the pain. Instead concern was knitted between her eyebrows. 'Are you all right?'

Luna could only stare, uncomprehending, at her old friend. So often had Ginny's face appeared vague in her imaginings that to see her again, in real life, felt like an intrusion. In Luna's ears, a dull buzzing overrode the voices, the people. Her hands and feet had pins and needles in them; Ginny's bright hair hovered as a blur in front of her face.

'Of course she's not all right.' Hermione. 'You're safe now, Luna. You're safe from him.'

'Give her a moment.' Snape.

'We've got to be getting back to headquarters,' said Harry. 'The others should be back with that foul snake's corpse. I want to see it for myself.'

Luna burst into tears. It was _wrong,_ so _wrong_… this was not the way it was supposed to be. Gentle hands held her shoulders, conjured a tissue for her, a familiar voice whispered in her ear that it was all right… but it was not all right. Someone grasped her hand and she barely felt the squeezing, bone-popping sensation of Apparition. They ended up on a sidewalk beneath yellow streetlights. A vivid memory flashed through Luna's mind of herself, beneath a blue sky, swinging a leg over Abacus's back, singing a song and kicking off through the air to head south into France.

Number 12, Grimmauld Place, loomed in front of her.

* * *

Two weeks passed.

They gave the Luna the courtesy of her old room back. A sobbing, thin version of her father visited her. He seemed almost angry that she was back, because he had done his grieving the year before, and thought he'd had closure. Now Mr. Lovegood had to deal with regaining his daughter, and its fresh, requisite possibility of losing her all over again.

Through it all Luna stayed silent. She had nothing to say to strangers. Hermione and Snape whispered about her in concerned murmurs. Luna's flesh grew thin around her bones, just as it had when she was first taken captive by the Dark Lord. She kept expecting to hear the soft slither of Nagini across the floor to coil about her knees, or the pop of Birdy the house-elf, or most of all the (_choke_) the cool, smooth voice of Lord Voldemort. She missed that the most. For whatever could be said about his character and mind and nature, none could deny the fantastic beauty of his voice. He could persuade a saint into sin.

'_And hadn't he done?'_ whispered Luna's own voice.

The golden, red warmth of Grimmauld Place grated on Luna's nerves. It was harsh to her eyes; she missed the quiet dark shadows of the Riddle House. Reality knocked every time the bell rang at Order headquarters; the red of Weasley hair, the red of the carpets, the red of their robes that were bright, not light. Her soul yearned for rest. To run gentle hands along Nagini's smooth scales, or along Voldemort's white pure skin. To speak in hushed whispers and let the black corners of the room absorb all excess. No such comforting shadows existed in the glaring lamps of Harry Potter's home.

It was a red-haired Ginny who woke Luna from her adjustment period. Ginny, who barged unannounced into Luna's bedroom to find Luna sitting in front of the window, cross-legged and staring at a cloud in the vast sky beyond. Ginny who carried a vial of Euphoria Elixir and a plate of finger sandwiches. She plopped down on the floor next to Luna.

'Here,' she said, offering the potion.

Luna shook her head.

'He did it to me, too,' said Ginny bluntly.

With creaking muscles Luna turned her face to look at the other girl. Ginny's determined face was pale, although the tips of her ears were red. 'What do you mean?' Luna said in an out-of-practise voice.

'He raped me,' said Ginny. 'Not my body, of course… he wasn't solid yet, was he? But he had my mind. He told me things, showed me things… horrible things… I was never innocent afterwards. I've carried it with me but I've moved on. Just because I'm normal now doesn't mean I've forgotten what it was like to be possessed by darkness.'

'Is there a point to this?' Luna asked.

'Yes,' Ginny said, a flame creeping into her tone. 'I'm here to help you snap out of it, Luna. You're back with the people who love you. I know what he did to you – Hermione said you'd visited her when she was prisoner. And I'm the only one who can imagine what it was like to be taken like that, over and over, for months. It's all right, you know. None of it is your fault. We're just glad you're alive, Luna.' Ginny leaned over and threw her arms around Luna's thin body.

Luna allowed the hug. She paid attention to Ginny's words, because that was what she was good at: paying attention. Closing her eyes, she saw a sky with clouds in her mind's eye, and the clouds formed the word 'Yes.'

'I don't know what to do with myself,' Luna said to Ginny. 'To be back to normal here… but it was normal there, too. I'd – gotten used to him.'

Ginny nodded sympathetically.

'I did it because I thought I would be able to help you when the time came. I could help the Order.' Luna shook her head; she wished she'd died instead. Her sacrifice had been for nothing. In her confusion she was not sure to whom she wanted to be a sacrifice. 'I failed there.'

'But you didn't!' Ginny exclaimed. 'Snape told us all about it when he escaped with Hermione. How you passed information and plans. If it weren't for you, we'd have never known about the Horcruxes, not for sure… and that night in the Forbidden Forest, he would have stolen your soul as a blanket of protection for himself. We stopped it because of you. And Lupin has returned, because of you.'

'Has he?' Luna asked. She remembered how easily Lupin had sparked to hope on Walpurgis Night.

'Mm-hmm,' Ginny nodded. 'You're a heroine, Luna. You've been so brave.'

Luna, who knew she had not, agreed for the sake of it. She picked up a sandwich and ate it.

'I have so much to tell you,' said Ginny, herself munching on a sandwich. 'Loads has happened… good and bad. I don't know how much you heard.'

'Never enough,' said Luna. 'I tried to listen in on things, but everything was second hand information. Is it true that Ronald -- ?'

Ginny nodded, seeming about to choke on her sandwich. 'Yes,' she whispered after she managed to swallow. 'Last year. Tonks, too, and Moody, and then… Charlie.'

'Your brother Charlie?'

Ginny nodded again. 'It was when we were going after one of the Horcruxes. He didn't even know what he died for.'

'I'm sorry,' said Luna, and she was not just apologising for the loss of Ginny's brothers. 'I told him things, I told him everything… about the Order, everything I knew.'

A short laugh devoid of humour. 'Don't worry about it,' said Ginny. 'We thought you were dead. And then when Snape and Hermione came back and told us you were still alive, we knew you'd been compromised. No one can hold back from Vol- from You-Know-Who. We knew you were still loyal because of what Snape and Hermione told us.'

It made Luna feel a little better. She had a second sandwich. In fact, she was feeling better by the minute. 'Has your mum made any cookies lately? I missed those. The fluffy chocolate-chip ones.'

'Yeah, there are some downstairs. Shall I run and get them?'

'Isn't that what house-elves are for?' Luna asked.

'You snob!' Ginny laughed at her. 'You sound like a right wealthy snob!'

Luna clapped a hand over her mouth. Perhaps she had gotten used to being waited on by Birdy the house-elf, and Smiley and Yorkie, her guards. She giggled in spite of herself. 'Well?'

'There's Dobby,' Ginny admitted, and at the sound of his name the elf appeared.

The very humble and grateful elf was most gratified to be able to serve 'pretty Miss Ginny and sweet Miss Luna.'

'So what else has happened?' Luna asked.

A blush worked across Ginny's freckled cheeks. 'Harry and I are engaged,' she said. 'It happened over Christmas. Everything's so uncertain and dangerous so we thought, why wait?'

'Oh, Ginny!' Luna beamed at her friend. 'I'm happy for you.' She, too, had an appreciation for dark-haired men.

'It's made Mum really happy. She lost two this year… but she keeps saying that she's gained a son in Harry. She's decided on blue for the bridesmaid's robes – you'll be a bridesmaid, of course – even though I wanted green because of Harry's eyes. I don't really care though, I'm just happy to have a wedding at all. We won't get married, though, until… things are more settled, you know?'

'I know,' said Luna. It struck her as ridiculous to be discussing things like the colour of a bridesmaid's gown… though she was glad for blue rather than green. Green was not her shade at all.

She almost said something then about her time with Voldemort. But confessions implied sin. Luna had not done anything wrong… she had stayed alive. As Ginny said, she'd helped the Order from afar and would now be able to fight on the side of light again. She wanted to tell Ginny about the small things… about chess games with him, conversations, meals… it occurred to Luna that, for all her title as 'Dark Lord's Seer', she had lived essentially as his wife.

But something dark and secretive within her made her drop the notion of confiding in her friend. Luna knew how it would sound: worshipful, grateful to Voldemort, as though there were anything about him that was human. He was mortal in body but sub-mortal in mind. No, it was not to be understood, not even by Luna herself.

* * *

Luna attended a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix a week later. She felt up to it. There were a great many new faces, many of them foreign, just as she'd noticed that night in the Forbidden Forest. The ones that knew her seemed to not want to look at her or touch her. She could not blame them. She was soiled beyond imagining in their eyes; she wondered why she did not think of herself as ruined, too. 

Neville had welcomed her back with warm eyes, a hesitant smile, and a cautious pat on the back, but the distance between them was tangible. Too much was unshared. In fact, with the exception of Ginny, Luna's former schoolmates and teachers treated her like something fragile and frightening.

So when Luna walked into the big sitting room that held a large gathering of the Order, she skulked back into a corner and decided to wait it out, unnoticed. Harry gave a motivational speech and shattered Luna's self-created sanctuary by announcing her return.

'The tide is turning for us,' Harry said smugly. 'The Death Eaters' inner circle suffered several major blows with the deaths of that witch, Bellatrix Lestrange, and her husband. And we rescued a long-suffering captive of Voldemort, one of our dearest friends, Luna Lovegood. Welcome back!'

She could not look into the eyes of the heads that turned to see her.

'In addition to this major victory,' Harry said, his attention already facing forward, 'I have the pleasure of presenting the evidence of a major kill. The destruction of this creature has set back Voldemort tremendously… you may not think the death of an animal familiar is a big deal, but trust me, it is.'

How was Luna expected to react? Harry levitated a large box forward and tilted it. Someone let out a whoop, another started clapping; Bill Weasley grinned and said something about that 'great snake that attacked my dad.'

Inside the box was the twisted, bloodied, shattered remnant of Nagini. The snake was coiled at a most unnatural angle; her eyes were glazed over and her mouth lolled open. Luna thought of the many times Nagini had coiled around her, the times she'd read to her from a book. She looked at the snake's eyes and remembered them as dark, glinting, possessive, yet somehow comforting in their coldness. Like iron nails that held it all together. Now they were milky and lifeless.

The celebratory applause of the Order around her was unbearable, each clap a dagger of grief. Luna was crying. No one noticed.

'Many of you,' said Harry, 'are under the impression that Voldemort has somehow achieved immortality. After all, he returned from the dead once… but I can assure you that with the death of this creature, he is mortal once more. Now is the time for the offensive. Now we will strike at him. He is weakened. And he will die.' Cheers. 'This snake was no ordinary animal.'

Laughter and jeers at the husk of the serpent followed Harry's speech. The Order was buzzing with high morale; where things had looked so grim just a few months before, it seemed the worm had turned. The room began to clear out and Luna stepped toward the box that was really a coffin.

'She wasn't an ordinary snake,' said Luna.

'That's right,' said Harry, overhearing her. 'She was a Horcrux. A piece of his filthy soul.'

'But that's not what I mean,' said Luna, lifting her eyes to stare Harry in the face. 'She was a child.'

His brow quirked. 'Sorry?'

'Nagini. She was a Naga. A child who took the oath of the Dark Arts, many years ago from what I understand. It turned her into a serpent, one who could do nothing but be loyal to the master to whom she was bound. Her name used to be… Lakshmi. It means goddess.'

Harry was silent for a moment. He looked a little bit horrified. '_What?_'

'When I was in the Dark Lord's house, I used to read to Nagini. I told her stories. She never hurt me, you know… actually, once she even tried to protect me. She wasn't all bad. She wasn't filthy just because she had some of _him_ inside of her.' Luna's words were not all about Nagini.

A strangled noise came from Harry's throat. He still hated the snake, of course; it had been something to dispose of. But there was a dark cloud of something else in his green eyes, eyes that were once-familiar and then-forgotten and now-remembered. Luna thought it was disgust. It could have been at himself or it could have been at her. Neither really mattered.

She turned on her heel, humming one of the lullabies she used to sing to Nagini, because she could not stand to look at the broken serpent anymore. It was the closest thing to a eulogy she could muster.


	22. Close to Home

**Author's Notes:** Wow, are we on Chapter 22 already? This story is getting long… many thanks to all of you following it, reading it, reviewing it… your support is marvellous. _SC, Talriga, TheAngelOfSilence, a fan, SailorHecate, Sunshine Silverjojo, raininginforks, selenoliber, moonlightsdesire, Callia, Sarah Coldheart, twighunter, Cloud Spinner, MandaPandaAR, Ravenfeather42, Perceval23, wildandclear, sly-serpentine, Wizzabee, SSJ Leia, Barranca, bookmusicfreak_, and _LemoN-X-DroP_. I would totally love to write back to all of you individually but this week was crazy busy!

Now, I take a little creative liberty (re: Bellatrix Black Lestrange) here that some of you may see as plausible, and others may disagree with; personally, I could see it, although I know it will never happen in canon. It was necessary for this plot, though, so it just sort of came out that way.

Also, I apologise in advance for the evil cliffie. I didn't want this chapter to run to 8000 words so I left a little pause in a long scene.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

_Recap from Chapter 21:_

_Harry still hated the snake, of course; it had been something to dispose of. But there was a dark cloud of something else in his green eyes, eyes that were once-familiar and then-forgotten and now-remembered. Luna thought it was disgust. It could have been at himself or it could have been at her. Neither really mattered. _

_She turned on her heel, humming one of the lullabies she used to sing to Nagini, because she could not stand to look at the broken serpent anymore. It was the closest thing to a eulogy she could muster.

* * *

_

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Close to Home**

When June rolled into July, Luna had had a chance to heal a little bit. The simple tasks of eating and sleeping and breathing gradually transitioned into a sense of strength and normality. The meetings of the Order were a welcome sense of discipline, too. Mostly Luna sat in the corner and listened and followed whatever orders were given her; she was allowed to do guard duty, flying on a broomstick over headquarters. It was not a very demanding job but it was all she was allowed.

Mrs. Weasley's cookies were baked and then eaten. Crookshanks the Kneazle chased birds in the scraggly back garden. Harry and Ginny seemed incandescently happy to be together, almost as though they were a torch that was burning too bright and too fast for fear that it would go out. Hermione and Snape were more subdued, but Luna thought she knew what happened behind closed doors. The old feeling returned of being a third-wheel in a house full of couples. A part of her that she did not like was upset that her Dark Mark had not tingled or burned since she returned to life; not once had Voldemort tried to summon her. He must not miss her at all.

Sometime during Luna's absence, the Order of the Phoenix had stopped pulling punches. Luna knew it was under Harry's orders and encouragement that any wizard in a Death Eater mask and robes received the Killing Curse. No questions asked. It was a brutal policy necessary to deal with brutal people; the Ministries of other nations sent battalions of Aurors to help quell the threat of Voldemort. It was not unusual now to go into battle along side yellow-robed Indian Aurors or blue-robed American Aurors.

'What a rainbow,' said Luna one day when the sitting room was filled with representatives from other countries.

Harry was rapidly developing into the most famous international figure in the wizarding world. It pleased Ginny; Luna could tell. The girl had a thing for powerful wizards. It must have been because long ago, when Ginny was just a girl, the most powerful wizard of all had touched her with his mind. Luna defined power now as the ability to affect events. She was not sure if Voldemort was the _best_ wizard, but she did know that without him, nothing would happen.

Voldemort was the _primum movens_.

On a warm Saturday Luna was allowed to accompany the inner circle on a 'special errand.' This was at Ginny's insistence, who said that Luna was one of their most creative thinkers and knew more about Lord Voldemort than most of them. 'She can help us decide how and when to use it,' Ginny said. They took a Portkey to Hogsmeade, spinning away through time and light, reappearing on the outskirts of town and looking down the high street. Wands at the ready.

'Help you use what?' Luna asked.

'The secret weapon,' said Hermione grimly, and with unmistakable pride in her voice.

'This way,' said Professor McGonagall. She looked so tired these days, and dry. Her voice shook but her back was ramrod-straight.

'The Shrieking Shack?' Luna asked, looking about her as they meandered along a hilly path, past twisted hawthorn trees and highland heather. 'Are we using ghosts?'

'Not quite,' said Hermione.

'Good, because it's difficult to win the loyalty of a ghost. All they care about is the past,' said Luna.

As they approached the tilting, aging pile of wood that was the Shrieking Shack, Luna shivered. The temperature seemed to have dropped. They walked in formation, not bunched together but in pairs, wands out and mobile wards surrounding them. One could never be too careful. Luna felt like there were invisible things flying around her head. She waved her hands as though flinging off water. 'I don't like this,' she said.

'You'll like it when you see what's in store for Voldemort,' said Harry darkly. 'We're trying to get the Order members used to it.'

'Used to _what?_' Luna asked again. 'What's in that shack, Harry?'

'You don't have to get close,' said Ginny. 'We've just been checking up on it. And training it in battle.'

'A Heliopath?' Luna breathed.

Hermione made a scoffing noise. 'Those aren't real,' she said.

'That's what you know,' Luna sniffed. She recalled a conversation with Voldemort in which he alluded to such a creature he'd once encountered in Central America. There, it was called an Itzamna, and had the hooves of a horse and the face of a macaw and left fire in its wake. She wished she could have told Hermione so.

When they arrived at the Shrieking Shack, the old house seemed to have a life of its own. There were groans and clanks, as well as a pervasive feeling of sadness. Hermione lifted her wand and set about disarming the wards. 'Snape set them,' she said, 'augmented by Minerva and myself.'

_Minerva?_ Luna thought. That was Professor McGonagall's given name. Hermione and Minerva were two peas in a pod.

The storm-battered wooden front door swung open and Harry stepped inside first. The air was damp and Luna could see her breath. She felt strange, as though doom pressed in on her from all sides, as though… she would never be happy again.

'I know, it can't be nice, especially for you,' said Ginny. 'Not for me either.' Her voice was a chilly whisper as the group moved down the swaying hallway. 'But it can't hurt us.'

Another set of wards, deactivated by Harry this time, and they stepped into a room with one colour inside it.

Red.

Luna fell backwards, tripping over Ginny's shoes, and the arms of Neville Longbottom shot around her to catch her from her fall. 'No,' she whispered, 'no, no, no.'

'It's all right, Luna,' said Harry from beyond the doorway. 'It's for him.'

'It's keyed to his magic,' Hermione explained, a frown on her face, unsympathetic of Luna's shaking fright. 'Specially bred. We used the second-to-last Horcrux we destroyed, the athame of Ravenclaw…'

'Hermione came up with the spell,' Harry said proudly. 'It was genius.'

'And Harry was the one who had to cast it,' added Hermione.

'What do you mean, keyed to his magic?' Luna managed to stammer. Neville's arms were warm and strong around her.

'It's a hunter,' said Hermione. 'This Dementor can track down Voldemort. It has a link to him because we already gave it a – sniff, I suppose – of his soul. The piece that was in the Horcrux.'

Luna did not have to look into the room again to know, detail by detail, the sight that would greet her. She'd seen it in many a nightmare. But still she stepped forward, gripping her wand for comfort rather than protection, and made her eyes focus on the thing inside.

It was breathing in rattling gasps. Red cloth dripped from its floating frame. Inside the hooded cloak, all was dark. The red Dementor appeared subdued or docile, not about to attack anyone, but in the way of a jungle cat lounging in a tree. Any moment could see action. There was no furniture in the room and the walls and floorboards were grayscale against the Red Thing. It just hovered in the corner, breathing, hunched over, in wait.

Dizziness overwhelmed Luna as a wave of panic. Her heartbeat was light and fast. Her senses became fuzzy and prickly and careening into black. She watched as Harry whispered something to the Dementor; Harry pointed to the other corner of the room and Dementor floated there on command. Luna was not surprised by Harry's control over the monster and this too frightened her. Unable to look, she stepped back, allowing the other Order members to stand between her and 'it.'

She could almost hear its rattling red voice, whispering 'betrayer.'

Luna went outside. Not far, just to the porch, but she felt suffocated inside the Shrieking Shack. Taking great lungfuls of fresh air, she counted to ten and tried to think of something else. A part of her kept expecting to be dreaming. A red Dementor appeared only in dreams. Any minute now, Voldemort would slap her awake, and his terrible and perfect face would be hovering above her, his glowing eyes narrowed in consternation.

Thinking back to her first sequence of Seer's dreams, Luna remembered that she had told Voldemort of the threat, the danger, the Order's plans. Those events were still in motion. She wondered if there was any avoiding it. Perhaps it was Voldemort's fate to die the Red Death. Except… it wasn't really death. It was a cheat, and that was the worst thing about it.

'You all right, Luna?' It was Neville. There was concern in his voice and trepidation, too, as though he wanted Luna to tell him she was fine and let him off the hook.

So she did. 'I'll be fine.'

'I don't like it much either,' said Neville. 'But they're pretty proud of it, Harry and Hermione. It's the only Dementor I've ever heard of that can only… well, basically it's only capable of administering the Kiss to one person. V-vol-You-Know-Who. That Dementor in there is only hungry for him.'

The way Neville said it made Luna shiver. 'It can find him?' she asked.

Neville nodded. A cool highland wind kicked up, bringing the scent of ice and heather. 'I want to go back to London,' Luna said. She sat down on the steps and picked a blade of grass, turning it over in her hands, admiring its crispness. It would wither and die now that she'd picked it. Oh, well.

* * *

_July, the Thunder Moon

* * *

_

The dreadful knowledge of Harry Potter's secret weapon motivated Luna to do something she was still unused to: take initiative. She wanted fairness and tolerance, even (_especially_) for the Dark Lord and so she came up with her own secret weapon. It would steal Voldemort away into the safety of death and preserve him; she knew he would not want the gesture but she made it anyway.

Potions, Luna had learned in her last year at Hogwarts, could be condensed and made into solid pills. Or a tiny amount of liquid could be enchanted inside a capsule that, when bitten down, released the contents. She brewed up a batch of painless transition (lethal, but of course what did that matter when faced with the Dementor's Kiss?) and hid it inside a set of robes, deep in her trunk. It was one of her many secrets, tangled around a once-pure heart.

As for the war that surrounded her…Where once there had been factions, secret clubs, small organisations grappling for good versus evil, now there were armies. The scope of it was beyond anything Luna had ever seen or heard of. The Order of the Phoenix was on the offensive, or was it the Death Eaters? No one seemed to remember how it had escalated. All that was known was that the north of England would be the battleground.

A sea of wizards' tents stretched across a rocky swell of Derbyshire hillside, a scant ten kilometers from Little Hangleton and the Riddle House. It was the encampment of the side of Light, as they liked to call themselves, in spite of the Dark Arts they practised to defeat their enemies. Luna liked to believe she was not the only tainted one. The weather was cold and foggy for an English summer; this close to Death Eater headquarters, the Dementors were numerous. It put everyone in a depressed mood.

Like battle standards, flags and insignia flew taut in the chilly breeze. There was a large contingent of American Aurors, some Japanese, some Indians, quite a few French. The British Ministry had all but collapsed under the assault of Voldemort in past months, so there were no British Aurors. Just the Order, housed in large tents with red-and-gold banners bearing the phoenix. Luna was living in one of these tents and turned her face away from the garish colours of the flag every time she walked past.

Yes, Luna estimated there were at least a thousand witches and wizards ready to fight Voldemort. The problem was that she knew Voldemort had more, and they were not all human, either. His Dark armies included trolls, giants, dragons, demons, Inferi, vampires… he had even flirted with the idea of using Veela, although Luna never found out if he actually had. The human Death Eaters were great in number, too. Voldemort was not suffering for support.

But Harry Potter wanted the end of it. He wanted to finish the Dark Lord before he could find another way to make himself immortal. Luna had dutifully passed on the information that Voldemort was unable to make more Horcruxes at the risk of shattering his tenuous hold on himself; it had been welcome news.

The pieces were moving. The end game was in full swing. The hand had been called.

Luna could think of a million different words for it as she stood atop a rock and peered across picturesque, rocky valleys; through fog and mist; through trees and into the mind of Lord Voldemort. She could almost see what he was thinking. He would not appreciate how predictable he was.

Luna felt the whip-like motion of her dress around her legs; she wore white, as usual. Matching clouds skittered across the sky, in a hurry to get somewhere. The sun was just kissing the edge of the western horizon; it would be dark within the hour. Luna's sigh carried on the wind and off toward the Riddle House. She thought she could see the edge of the dark forest that bordered it… but she could not be certain.

In an unconscious gesture of habit, she rubbed her left forearm. Then she gasped. Was it -- ?

'Oh,' Luna breathed. Her Dark Mark was tingling. Stronger by the second. She was being summoned… Luna glanced around her. There was no one to stop her going. The Mark ached like her heart. She winced with the pain of it, within and without, above and below. She was unsure what to do…

He wanted to see her.

'I'm coming,' she whispered to the wind. But not yet. There were a few things to do first, a few tiny things to collect. Her thoughts were one of them. She ran down the hill at breakneck speed, gravity tugging her towards the camp, and she burst into the tent she shared with Ginny and Susan Bones. Neither girl was there, fortunately; Ginny could usually be found in the command tent, at Harry's side, and Susan was one of the handlers for Grawp, Hagrid's giant brother. They left Luna alone to be strange, and to rummage through her things for the small glass vial she sought.

There were Apparition wards up around the camp, of course, along with the usual Unplottable and Fidelius Charms. Same as the Riddle House. Each side knew the other was there, but they could not see each other or enter the others' territory. Luna wondered where she would end up when she responded to the Dark Lord's call.

Finding the tiny vial in her trunk, Luna spared herself a glance in the mirror before she left. Her cheeks were flushed and she no longer had dark circles under her eyes. That was good. The white dress suited her and although her long blonde hair was disheveled and wind-blown, that suited her too. She ran her hands down her sides. 'Ready or not, here I come,' she said aloud, and fled the tent before she could change her mind.

The Dark Mark was fully burning now. Luna willed patience. She walked at a nondescript pace through camp so that none would follow her or notice her absence. Halfway in reality, halfway outside of it, it was not difficult for Luna to float through mists unnoticed. She met the eyes of no one as her soft footfalls carried her out beyond the wards.

She lifted her wand. '_Apparate_!' she commanded, and the dark trail of magic tugged her along through space, to a destination she knew not, and she swallowed hard in the instant before it took her.

* * *

Luna did not end up where she expected. The summons did not bring her to the Riddle House, but rather to an overgrown forest lane. It felt as though she'd wandered into a dream. An unsurprising place for Luna Lovegood to be. She walked forward along the path. Patches of mist obscured the ground in front of her and clung around her feet; she shivered and rubbed her arms up and down. These woods were creepy. They were old forest, twisted and gnarled, somehow messy. Above her head the branches arched like a cathedral au natural, blocking the deep colour of encroaching twilight. Luna felt the line of darkness marching across the land toward her as the sun sank away to be reborn in the morning. 

The rational part of her brain wondered if she would live to see the dawn. It made sense that the Dark Lord would kill her now. She had abandoned him, after all, and at a time of greatest need. In one night he had lost three females: Bellatrix, Nagini, and Luna; two to death and one to old enemies. He might kill Luna just for symmetry's sake.

A part of Luna yearned for it. For so many months she'd been expecting to die by Voldemort's hand, and she felt she'd be lost without a murderous conclusion to their story. It would be poetic irony, to be killed by the man she'd despised and then loved and then left, and Luna enjoyed poetic irony. She only hoped he could wait a few minutes and hear her out before he pronounced his judgment.

She felt the unmistakable pressure and tingle of heavy wards as she walked along the road. She was drawing close to him. He needed her. It was meant to be. 'Hello?' she called out, but nothing answered her except the distant hoot of an owl. A muffled flapping of wings. Luna's shivers became more pronounced.

Then, she turned the soft corner of a tree trunk and saw it: a cottage, hunched over and ancient, but glowing with warm yellow light from within. The building was covered in vines and vegetation, and blended so well into the forest around it that Luna would have missed it if not for the lights. The door was open a crack, allowing a band of light to fall onto the stone front stoop.

Luna stepped forward and prepared to knock, but before she could, the door swung open on its own. _Like magic_, said a mocking voice in her head. She took a very deep breath and stepped across the threshold.

'I'd invite you in, but you've already entered.' His voice, so pure and sweet and elegant and dangerous.

'My Lord,' she murmured, but did not bow on her knee. The balance of power had shifted. Her begging days were done.

For fifteen seconds that felt like fifteen hours, there was silence. Luna chanced a look at Voldemort. His eyes glinted like rubies cast into a perfect snow-white face. The sight caused Luna's heart to seize in fear; it also caused a curl of desire deep in her belly. She felt sure that Voldemort could perceive both. Often, she'd thought that she was not the only one possessing a touch of the Sight.

'You've returned,' he said. There was hoarseness in his voice. Luna hoped he was taking care of himself and not shouting at his Death Eaters too much. It was not good for him.

'I've returned,' she said. 'I came when you called me.'

He frowned. 'You've been with the Order of the Phoenix.'

'Yes.'

'Were you always loyal to them, Luna Lovegood? Look at me when you answer.'

There was no choice. She stared into his eyes, captivated by him, and she let the plain truth speak for her, catching herself by surprise. 'I was loyal to you, Lord Voldemort. But my loyalty cannot be pinned down or captured or… or defined, even. You know this about me.'

'You're like a little cloud, floating through life,' he said.

'I can turn into a storm if you want me to,' Luna said. 'Not everything is in the mind.'

'Mmm,' Voldemort said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Luna took a measure of their surroundings. The stone walls were ancient, but looked clean. The floor likewise was fresh wood, covered with rugs, and a grouping of two armchairs and a small loveseat surrounded a fireplace. It was elegant yet cozy, so much so that Luna almost did not notice the serpents twined into the carved stone of the mantelpiece, or the vials of deadly poisons sitting on the table, or the tell-tale shadows of Inferi lurking beyond the windows.

'What is this place?' she asked. 'Where are we?'

'Not far from my headquarters,' said Voldemort. 'In the woods.'

'Really? I never knew this was here!' Luna was a bit disappointed that he'd held out on her. She wished she could have convinced him to let her live here, instead of in the eggshell security of the main Riddle House.

'This was the home of the Gaunt family,' said Voldemort.

Luna understood. It had been his mother's house. His grandfather's house. 'I thought you said they were –'

'Their history has no bearing on my use of this place,' said Voldemort. Luna knew that he lied, even to himself. 'It is simply a convenient magical dwelling. While the bulk of my forces are camped on the grounds of headquarters, I command them from here.'

'You like to be unpredictable,' said Luna fondly. 'You do a fine job of it.'

'Thank you,' said Voldemort. The corners of his mouth lifted. 'Sit down. I have something for you.'

Out of habit, Luna obeyed him. She folded her woman's body into one of the armchairs; she did not know if she avoided the loveseat because it was for two, or because of its name. Armchairs made things easier.

'These are yours,' said Voldemort. His tall figure appeared before her and he had a box in his hands.

'My cards!' Luna exclaimed, reaching forward. Her hands brushed across his as she took the proffered box. 'Oh, thank you! I'd missed them so…'

'Did you miss them?' Voldemort asked.

'Of course,' said Luna, knowing that there was an occult meaning to the question. If she missed the cards, she missed reading the cards. If she missed reading the cards, she missed her seeker of answers. Him. Luna opened the box and touched the deck and smiled to herself. 'Thank you,' she repeated. 'I did not think I would see these again.'

'They were a gift.' Voldemort stepped to the window and turned his back on her, gazing into the blackness beyond.

She could see the reflection of his face in the glass. He did not look happy.

How difficult it was to break old habits. Luna was used to showing Voldemort deference, to serving him, and her very old habit (from well before her time of captivity) was to care for people. She set the box down and stood up. She made sure that he saw her reflection so that he would not be startled when she took his left hand in her own, and bowed her head against the back of his shoulder. 'My Lord, I'm so sorry.'

'Sorry for what?' His voice was cold and that was not good.

'For what happened. I-I saw Nagini, after they – oh, I said goodbye to her, and I wouldn't let them gloat. I couldn't. She was my friend.'

'She was a snake,' Voldemort hissed, annoyed.

'She was more than a snake,' said Luna. 'She was once a child and then she was a part of you. I'm sorry it turned out that way.'

'But you warned me about it, didn't you? Those dreams you had. That must give you _gratification_.' The last word was a blade.

'It doesn't,' said Luna simply. 'I have no desire to see death.'

'Not even mine?'

'Especially not yours,' said Luna, and she was surprised to find that it was true. She wished there could be another way, and she wished that there was no such thing as a red Dementor, and she wished that the small glass vial did not burn a hole in her pocket.

'It matters not,' Voldemort said. 'I lost a great deal that night, but gained a great deal at the same time. I received what I came to that circle to create.'

'Huh?' said Luna. She released his hand and peered around to meet his eyes. 'What do you mean? I didn't die in a blood sacrifice for you.'

'No,' he said, '_you _didn't.'

The sun rose inside Luna's mind to illuminate her. 'Ohh,' she said slowly. Of course. Luna had been chosen as Voldemort's 'protective' sacrifice because she loved him and because he'd shared his life force with her. They had a physical bond. But Luna had not been the one to sacrifice herself that night in the Forest; it was Bellatrix Black Lestrange who'd flung herself in front of the curse to save the Dark Lord whom she loved.

'Did you have relations with her, too?' Luna asked, her question tinged with jealousy. 'Did her sacrifice give you the protection you wanted?'

'In answer to your first question,' Voldemort said, his lips forming a wry smile, 'yes, I had relations with her, although nothing like the kind you're thinking of. Bella was, in fact, a relation.'

'_What?_' Luna's mind spun around, thrown off balance. How could he mean it?

'I won't elaborate on the story,' said Voldemort. 'But many years ago, when I was a young man, there was a certain artefact in the possession of the family Rosier. Now, the son of this family, Michel Rosier, was already a friend of mine, and a loyal follower. However, they would not give up the athame of Rowena Ravenclaw just because I asked for it. So I seduced the daughter of the family and persuaded her to steal the artefact for me. Her name was Druella Rosier-Black. She was the mother of Bellatrix Black, who was born nine months later…'

Luna clapped her hands to her mouth. For all her Seeing skills, she had not anticipated _that_… yet it made so much sense she felt an idiot for not seeing it before. Bellatrix had loved Voldemort with fanaticism but not romanticism. He doted on her but in an impersonal way; their dynamic had not been a sexual one. And Bellatrix had even looked like him. Dark hair, dark eyes, fine features. 'Merlin's beard,' Luna breathed. 'Of course. Of course she was your daughter. Did she know it?' Then Luna answered her own question. 'No. She didn't know. You never told her, because it would have… changed things.'

'You really are more clever than you appear, Luna,' said Voldemort. He said it calmly and not as an insult.

'If Bellatrix was your daughter…' Luna thought out loud, 'then her sacrifice would mean… you have blood protection. A relative, your own descendant, who gave her life for yours. You can't be killed by the one who uttered the curse… you can't be killed by Harry Potter… if he tries, then it will rebound on him! Just like it did for you!'

Voldemort's triumphant expression confirmed it. To him the loss of a daughter was nothing compared to the gain of ancient blood magic. He had not loved Bellatrix as a daughter, follower, or friend. She had been useful, dead useful.

Luna felt so sorry for him. She forced calm into her own voice. 'A boon for you, then,' she said. 'I'm glad.'

'And what of you, Luna? Would you have performed the same duty for me?' Voldemort asked the question as though he already knew the answer.

But Luna, looking down at her shoes, did not reply. She would have been a sacrifice, but not a fully willing one. She'd have been almost-willing, but not quite a full body plunge into the lake.

A sound of sibilant dissatisfaction from his throat.

Luna raised her glance. Such a perfect throat, white, almost defenceless, but she knew that it was not, for it spoke such vicious lies and made such deadly pronouncements.

'There's something I want to tell you,' Luna said. 'You might kill me afterward, but that doesn't matter. My part in this nonsense is nearly over. You realise that's what it is, don't you? Nonsense. Violence. Pointless. I think you're all a lot of children. So I'm going to tell you my story, Lord Voldemort, for the very first time.' She met his startled gaze.

Voldemort's mouth was held stiff and his eyes burned bright. Oh, but he was angry, and curious, too. There was a measure of disbelief there. It was almost (not quite) the look Luna had anticipated almost a year ago, when she imagined betraying the Dark Lord, and the expression he would hold when she did it.

'You had better speak, Luna Lovegood, before I decide to act,' he said coldly.

Luna remembered to breathe.

* * *

**A/N: **What will she say? I'm so very sorry to cut it off there, but I promise (cross my heart and hope to die) the next update will be on Friday. 


	23. World On Fire

**Author's Notes: **Thank you, thank you, dear reviewers! Your support is much appreciated, _TheAngelOfSilence, karen, Lrnd, selenoliber, MandaPandaAR, bookmusicfreak, Callia, ravenfeather42, treasureseeker 900, Sabaku no Mizu, SSJ Leia, SailorHecate, moonlights desire, wildandclear, Twighunter, buffyandspike-4ever, Perceval23, Marisa, Talriga, poohpooh, jka1, LemoN-X-DroP, Christine Smi, _and _HRH Feline Queen_.

Now I will resolve that evil cliffhanger I left you with last week. There's a small nod in here to one of my other favourite characters, Hannibal Lecter. Oh, and this chapter is very much 'R.'

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Recap from Chapter 22:

'…_I'm going to tell you my story, Lord Voldemort, for the very first time.' She met his startled gaze._

_Voldemort's mouth was held stiff and his eyes burned bright. Oh, but he was angry, and curious, too. There was a measure of disbelief there. It was almost (not quite) the look Luna had anticipated almost a year ago, when she imagined betraying the Dark Lord, and the expression he would hold when she did it._

'_You had better speak, Luna Lovegood, before I decide to act,' he said coldly._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**World on Fire**

'For all the months I was your pet, your Seer, I kept myself pure,' Luna said. 'You may disagree. You defiled my body. You tried to steal my soul. But you never understood me, not really. I kept myself locked away from your prying eyes and your hands when you –' she choked, '—I didn't succumb to you. Never all the way. Darkness is only in degrees. It might anger you to know it, Voldemort, but I'm still light inside. You didn't touch that. In spite of it… I am loyal to you. You won me, but freely. There's that at least.' Luna could hear the tears in her own voice at the end of her speech.

A silence, heavy like a wool blanket, hung between them. Voldemort glared at her; the only betrayal of emotion was a slight narrowing of his eyes. After a terrible pause he spoke. 'If that's what you tell yourself so that you can sleep at night…' he said, smiling a little bit.

Luna laughed. 'No, I'm not like you. I can't lie to myself. Sometimes it's a curse but sometimes it's a blessing.'

'I do not lie to myself,' Voldemort said with a quaver of infant anger. He lied, of course.

'I just thought you should know,' said Luna. 'That I'm honest with myself, and I'm honest with you.' She took a deep breath and stepped closer to Voldemort. From her pocket she took the small vial that felt heavier than it should. 'This,' she said, 'is for you.'

Voldemort snatched it from her hand. His reflexes were quick like a snake's. 'It's poison,' he scoffed. 'A pill? Did you plan to force-feed me?' He uncorked the vial and brought it beneath his nose. 'Deadly nightshade and venom of sea-wasp. That would take mere seconds to kill.' He gave Luna a patronising look.

'I know,' said Luna. 'It is for you. To keep with you. Just in case.'

Voldemort gave a short laugh. 'For what purpose? To take my own life?'

'Some things are worse than death,' said Luna.

'I can't think of anything worse,' Voldemort snapped. 'You're a silly girl. If you can name me anything worse than death, then—'

'The Dementor's Kiss,' said Luna.

He was silent. Rocking back on his heels a little, he held the vial in one careful hand and with the other hand he tilted Luna's chin so that she was looking at him. 'A Dementor is easily repelled by one who knows how to control it,' Voldemort said. 'There is not a Dementor on this Earth who would dare to attack me.'

'Do you remember those dreams I had? About Harry Potter and the red Dementor?' Luna asked. She hoped that Voldemort would get it without her explaining in detail. Even the memory of the Red Thing was difficult for her to talk about without shaking. Voldemort stared into her eyes and he probed with his mind, poking, seeing, reading the truth.

'It's real,' he said.

She nodded.

'But I fail to see why you think I would need this,' he said, shaking the vial so the pill made a gentle clattering sound. 'A Dementor is just a Dementor.'

'No,' Luna said breathlessly. 'This one isn't. It's specially-bred. It follows Harry's orders alone and it's bred for you, to hunt you. They used one of your Horcruxes to teach it what your soul… smells like, I suppose. It's not normal. I saw it, I –' tears came to her eyes, and the word _traitor_ came to her mind. But she pushed that thought away; she was not betraying her heart. There was no side of light anymore except her own self.

Voldemort let out a low whistling sound beneath his breath, followed by a soft curse.

'Please,' said Luna. 'Just promise me you'll keep it with you, just in case.

'And you say you never succumbed to me,' he said, sarcasm dripping. 'It seems to me that your first instinct is for my preservation.'

She was silent because he was correct.

'Why?' Voldemort asked.

'What do you mean?'

'Most of my followers… their motives are obvious to me. They are easily understood, motivated by fear, greed, lust, prejudice. I know why they are loyal. You – Luna, I don't understand you.'

It was the greatest compliment Voldemort could have paid her and so she glanced up at him with shining eyes. 'I'm crazy,' she laughed softly. 'You've said it yourself. That which lacks sense cannot be understood. I'm yours. That's all that is important.'

His mouth tightened and she was unsure whether he was angry with her, or impressed. However, he placed the glass vial containing the poison on the table, not discounting its use entirely. With firm, cold fingers he fastened his grip around her frail wrist.

'Come,' he said.

The door on the far side of the room was ajar; Luna could see dark wood walls, and the edge of a dark blue silk bedcover gleaming soft in candlelight. The darkness of it was an unexpected comfort. She wondered if Voldemort slept in there, and she wondered if once upon a time, his mother had slept in the same room and dreamed of a dark-haired man who loved her.

His grasp was hard and unforgiving. 'I should kill you,' he said.

'Perhaps you should,' said Luna. 'I wouldn't mind. I would never have minded.'

'No,' Voldemort whispered. 'You wouldn't have.' He took her hand, using his thumb to caress her palm. He brought it to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist, a whisper of a kiss, so soft that it tingled.

An unexpected thrill shot down Luna's arm. Her breath caught in her throat and she was positive that he heard it. What a strange new feeling that came upon her; she wanted Voldemort's touch. She wanted him to kiss not just her wrist, but everywhere. Not until that moment did she realise that in some twisted way she'd actually missed his presence on her skin.

With a gentle tug, he brought her along into the bedroom, where the curtains were closed against the night and a low fire smoldered in a tiny stone fireplace. 'I hope you like this room,' Voldemort said.

Luna knew why he said it. He really planned to kill her. But that was all right, because everything was crystal-clear and fresh and unambiguous. No doubt about it. She brought her solemn gaze up to his face.

'I love you,' she said.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. 'What?'

'I love you,' Luna repeated. 'I love you.'

His lips parted just a touch. A faint flush worked on his cheeks. 'You can't be serious. After all that's been done to you – you're lying.'

'I don't tell lies,' Luna said. She stepped closer to him so they were almost touching. 'I know you don't love me, Voldemort. But I don't mind.' With a trembling hand, she reached up and touched his jaw, feeling the frightened jerk of muscle, and heedless of it she caressed him.

Voldemort swallowed heavily. His red eyes were dark, their pupils dilated, the colour of healed blood. 'Love is weakness,' he whispered.

'Mine isn't,' said Luna. 'Know that, just for now.' Her fingers explored his pale skin, tender and unobtrusive, meandering down to play with the buttons on his collar.

Voldemort shook his head and turned away from her. 'I can't feel what you feel,' he said. A small choke of laughter caught in his throat, but it was not humorous. 'How did you survive me, Luna Lovegood? How?'

'Because I love you,' she said simply. 'And that is my strength now. It's the reason why I'm here.'

'And it will kill you in the end,' Voldemort snapped.

'Yes,' said Luna. 'One way or the other.' She leaned forward and kissed the skin of his throat, exposed by one open button. They stood apart from each other still, but Luna somehow knew that any moment now, Voldemort would take her in his arms and… take her. With every breath, the fire grew dimmer in the grate. A reminder that time was passing and they were somehow outside of its clutches.

'Luna, I – I love…'

'Don't say it,' Luna said. 'You don't have to say it when it's not true. I understand.' She smiled.

'I wish I could feel the way you do,' said he, in a voice that was unlike him. It was sad and somehow small. Unused.

Luna knew that it was Tom speaking to her.

He said, 'There are things that perhaps I've missed.'

'Then let me show you,' said Luna, overcome with pity for the creature before her, pity and awe mingled in a clashing chord that threatened to overtake her sanity. One wrong step and she would lose him… she would lose it all. In the moment of crisis, clarity flashed before her and she knew what to do. With now-steady hands, she reached up and unbuttoned one shoulder of her dress, then the other, letting the fabric fall open in a silent invitation… breasts exposed to him, peaking in the air, but not from cold.

Voldemort's eyes flickered down. For a heavy moment he did not move. Then, slowly, he bent his head. With the other hand he held Luna's back steady, arching her towards him, and he kissed the tip of her right breast. His tongue moved in a circle around her nipple, a teasing motion that made her whimper, and he whispered something unintelligible against her skin. Then he took her between his teeth but without pain; Luna felt a tug against her skin and a jolt of warmth flooded her nerves.

The fire grew ever dimmer as Voldemort took with grace that which was offered in love. Luna wanted to sob as his mouth worked against her sensitive skin, his warm mouth. He did not love her but he tried as hard as he could. After several moments he stepped back.

'Luna.'

She went to him then, took his hands in her own, and they melted together in front of the fire. 'I don't –'

'Shhh. No talking, not now.'

He kissed her. His lips moved across her collarbone, up to the sensitive part of her neck, and she gasped aloud. He silenced her then by kissing her mouth. There was nothing to do but respond. Into it she poured herself, all the loyalties that had once conflicted, all now reduced to the simple equation of man and woman and bodies entangled. A fever, sparked already, flared beneath her skin from a place somewhere in the middle.

Unlike Voldemort's dancing fingers of encounters previous, he held her now firmly and without artifice. Honesty in body where there had been none in his voice. Luna pressed herself up against him at every point to feel his contours. Her half-undone dress slipped off her shoulder unnoticed, the way barriers should be removed, down to the floor in a gentle cloud.

They did not speak as Luna unbuttoned his shirt with quick and efficient movements of her fingers that left his chest exposed; she kissed him as he'd kissed her. She could feel the strong heartbeat thrumming beneath his flesh. A false heartbeat, but she was past the point of caring. The bedcover was soft and silky on her back as she stretched out upon it, beckoning him down to her, breathless with excitement because this was her true first time.

'Oh,' she could not help gasping when he was naked and she was naked and they were entwined together, both white like god and goddess, pale gleaming skin in dying firelight. 'Come into me,' she whispered, and he let out a low moan from a place that she knew was still human. Her mind left her sentence unfinished: '_Come into me, Tom, and you'll never escape._'

Voldemort murmured her name once more when he pushed inside her, and for once the balance was different, because Luna was not invaded. She invited him in. They moved together in their last waltz. Exquisite waves of feeling pooled in Luna's nerves and she understood so much now. Love was weakness. Love was the dark mad heat that pushed reason aside. And she threw herself into it as she'd never cared for anything before, her hips tilting back and forth to meet him, her body spread apart and open.

The pace of their own alchemical wedding was tinged with longing. Voldemort moved slow and steady, deeper with every thrust, his breath shaky but his body strong. It was as though some great secret was hidden inside Luna and he was drawn ever further in, desperate to find it.

Luna lifted her head up and kissed him full on the mouth, her tongue grazing his. He responded with a harder motion and she cried out against his lips. The crest approached her, inexorable and terrifying and then she arched up to meet him, again and again.

When the uncoiling, sparkling explosion hit her, she screamed his true name. And in the clenching heat of her muscles she could feel him come an instant later. The air crackled with magic. Voldemort collapsed against her shoulder, and kissed her skin, and held her in his arms as though she was something precious, once thought lost.

Darkness came later, but it was a sweet darkness, and comfortable.

* * *

Luna's eyes popped open.

She was not alone. Voldemort rested beside her, face relaxed in sleep, but not too relaxed. His hand rested on her head, gentle, with her hair knotted around his long fingers. A pale golden sun made a bright stripe on the opposite wall as it came through a crack in the heavy curtains. Voldemort's bare chest rose up and down… alive. So did Luna's.

She gripped the edge of the bed sheet in her hand. Memories of the night came flooding back, of endless sensation and heavy breathing and fuzzy words whispered in the midst of passion. It was real, all of it. Luna could not remember if she had dreamed while she slept and that frightened her. It had been years since she had a dreamless sleep. It had been so solid and heavy in the darkness. Now the light was shining and it made everything shimmer because of the threat that rested next to her.

Luna knew that when Voldemort awoke, he would murder her.

Truth was truth and its form could not be disguised. Voldemort would kill her. Last night, Voldemort had come as close to unmasked as he was capable of. He would not think well of it in the morning. Luna knew this. She also knew that she had to act without hesitation, because it was not just about the two of them anymore.

Slowly and with great care, she moved out of his embrace. His mouth twisted in his sleep and Luna froze; then he relaxed again and so did she. Thank Merlin her hair did not tangle in his fingers, but rather slipped through like silvery unicorn hair, unresisting. Thinking hard and fast, she weighed her options: slide out of bed and hope not to wake him with the noise, or cast a silencing spell and hope not to wake him with the magic?

She would use the spell. Voldemort had the senses of a serpent; he would wake up if he heard anything, and if he woke up she was dead. But Luna did not have her wand; she would have to summon it.

It was on the floor, in the pocket of her discarded white dress, and Luna focused her magic as tight as she could. She needed that wand, _needed_ it, and called to it. '_Accio,'_ whispered her mind, quiet and strong. '_Accio wand!_' With barely a rustle the wand flew out of the dress pocket and arched up through the air into Luna's waiting hand. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. Wordlessly, she cast a Silencing charm on herself and gingerly lifted herself out of Voldemort's bed. The sense of loss was immediate; she was cold.

She almost crawled back into bed with him. Deep down in her throat, she felt a lump that would, in a few hours, turn to tears. But that could wait.

Once she was standing, Luna tiptoed around the bed, picked up her dress off the floor, and kept her eyes on the Dark Lord's sleeping form the entire time. She backed out of the bedroom. There was not much time left. The sun was rising swift and deadly and strong on the horizon; it cut through the forest and would wake him up. Luna slipped the white dress over her head but left her shoes on the floor.

On the kitchen table, she saw the tiny vial with the poison pill inside it. With a wave of her wand, she conjured a parchment and quill, and scrawled the words, 'It's up to you, Lord Voldemort. It always was. Love, Luna.' She put the vial on top of the note.

Her muscles tensed. She heard a noise from the bedroom. A shuffling. He was awake. Luna just remembered to seize the box containing her Tarot cards. Then she opened the front door of the cottage and did not look back as she ran with bare feet across the soft forest floor. The early morning air was cool as it brushed against her cheeks; every magical sense was alert so she would know when she was past the Apparition wards. Her Dark Mark started to burn. The trees, sun-dappled and glowing, cast quick-moving shadows across her face... All she saw swimming in front of her were trees, road, green, brown, a great blur of life and death.

To her left, there was a crashing noise in the brush, and the sound of a branch snapping. A fine summer morning with a pall of evil smeared across it. Luna ran as fast as she could, not knowing if it was an Inferi or a Death Eater or a demon…

'_Apparate!'_ she wanted to shout, except it came out as a whisper. But the intention was good and true. A squeeze, a pop, and Luna cried aloud as she was deposited on top of the hillside that overlooked the encampment of the Order of the Phoenix.

* * *

The first thing she did was race down the hill and into the tent where Harry Potter held his war council. And there she warned him.

'Don't try to cast the Killing Curse on Voldemort,' Luna told a bleary-eyed Harry. 'He has blood protection. Bellatrix was his daughter.'

'_What?!_' Harry said. He rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses. 'His _daughter?_'

'Yes,' said Luna. 'Now he has the same ancient blood magic. If you try to curse him, it'll rebound on you, just like it did for him that time. Tell me you understand, Harry!'

'Y-yeah, I get it,' said Harry. 'But I still can't believe – hey, how do you know Bellatrix was his daughter?'

'I just know,' said Luna. She wondered whether anyone had even noticed her missing all night. It was better if they didn't. Trust was hard-won in every camp these days. 'Trust me.'

'Right…' said Harry. 'It's all right, we have Old Red, anyway…'

Luna shuddered.

'Harry, who's that?' Ginny's voice called from beyond a wall.

Harry had the good grace to be embarrassed; Luna forced a smile. 'I'll leave you now,' she said, and floated out of the tent and back to her own. Her other roommate, Susan, wasn't there either; Luna bet she was with that French boy she was seeing. How innocent it seemed to her, she who had lain with Darkness, she who should by all rights be sprawled lifeless across a floor for her trouble.

Love was weakness. Love was a narrow escape.

* * *

Life, thought Luna, was so often an anticlimax. She had expected the final battle to come mere days after her visit to Lord Voldemort, but of course it did not. There were skirmishes, a few minor prisoners taken on each side, a testing of the waters and a using of pawns. Neither side could see the other. Harry Potter was waiting until the eleventh hour to use the Red Dementor, lest Voldemort find a way to defeat it. Harry did not know that his secret weapon was already betrayed to Voldemort. Luna saw no reason to tell him. She identified with Severus Snape more than ever, by staying on her own side and no one else's.

She was her own woman, thank you very much, and definitely a woman now.

As proof of her independent decision, her Mark burned regularly, sometimes so painfully that she had to bite down on a cloth against the pain, but it would be suicide to answer him in person. It hurt her in more ways than one. But, there came a time in every girl's life to take a stand, and Luna had made hers.

They had celebrated Harry's and Neville's birthdays in subdued fashion at the end of July. The general sense was that Harry would not live to see his next turning of the age. Luna wasn't so sure; her dreams and cards told her that Harry would survive.

They sat in the big tent at a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. The air outside was heavy, as August air should be, but strangely chill. The vast concentration of magic in the area was drawing all available light and warmth from the sky. As she often did, Luna wondered what the Muggles must make of it. Entire tracts of their countryside were now charmed to repel them. She was glad for their sake; if she had a choice, she would not be anywhere near Derbyshire right now, either.

As she listened to Hermione Granger's bossy voice drone on about following orders, Luna stared at her hands and thought about moving overseas. India would be a good place to go. She might learn more about the Naga. Lord Voldemort had always loved and hated India, so Luna wanted to go there; the Dark Lord loved and hated himself, too. She wanted to attain the same familiarity with the place.

'Minerva, did you want to outline the rules of engagement for Death Eater scout forces?'

Luna reluctantly brought her attention back to the briefing. The rules had changed, as she well knew. The Killing Curse was used with regularity by the top Order members. For Inferi, Dementors, and the like, the mission was search and destroy. Same went for giants and dragons. A shame, because Luna liked big creatures; she was like Hagrid in that way. There was something beautiful about every creature.

The Thestrals of the Forbidden Forest were on the side of light. Everyone could see them now. Luna did not look.

'We have intelligence that suggests Voldemort is no longer in residence at the Riddle House,' Hermione said.

'It's time to hunt him down,' interjected Harry. There was an impatient darkness in his voice that gave Luna a chill down her spine. 'A team of ward-breakers, led by Bill Weasley, will tear down the defenses of the Death Eaters. We will overrun their headquarters. Not only do we have superior numbers, but there will be no mercy for them this time; the use of Unforgivable Curses is temporarily authorised by the Ministery-in-Exile.' Harry waved a piece of parchment that, undoubtedly, made the killing, maiming, and torture of human beings acceptable for this window of time. After all, anyone would argue, desperate times called for desperate measures. The security of the wizarding world depended on it.

Luna swallowed the sour taste in her mouth. This would be the biggest offensive ever seen since the Goblin Rebellions, an event that was vague in her mind because even Luna Lovegood had trouble paying attention to the ghostly Professor Binns.

She wondered how they'd found out Voldemort's smaller, more secret residence. He was predictable in many ways. Mostly he was obsessed with his past, and so Luna thought he couldn't help attaching himself to the painful memories, nursing the hurt, letting it feed his ambitions. It, perversely, made him stronger.

After the Order high command briefing in which roles were delineated and assignations given, Luna strolled through the tent camp and into her tent. She walked in on Susan Bones kissing her French boy; they broke apart, flushed, tousled.

'Having fun?' Luna asked, but it didn't sound quirky and cute the way she'd intended. It sounded sarcastic.

'Sorry,' said Susan, scooting out of the tent and tugging Mr. French along with her.

Luna shrugged and waved her hands. Too many emotions in the air. She shook her fingers as though flinging off water; she wanted her magic in her fingers. As she sat down at the small wooden desk and brought out a quill and ink and parchment, the smell of the green-seaweed ink gave her a wave of seasickness. She felt rolling, adrift, and oh, shipwrecked.

For a moment she even had to press her hand to her lips.

Then she put the quill down and began writing. It was a letter, the safest kind of communication, the one without the burden of eyes and voices and flesh and wands.

'_Dear Sir,_' she wrote, because she did not want to call him the things she'd called him before.

'_I cannot tell you anything useful about battle plans, but I would like to thank you for not killing me. Immortality should not be a lonely venture, don't you agree? I'm the bishop on the opposite side of the chessboard from you and it is not a nice feeling. At least I'm moving at oblique angles. Perhaps I can stave off our confrontation still._' And for a few more stolen sentences she indicated that everything, somehow, would be All Right. She signed it, '_yours forever, Luna._'Feeling quite the chatterbox, Luna attached the letter to an anonymous owl and sent it on its way.


	24. When the Red Moon Rises

**Author's Notes: **Many thanks to my reviewers: _l'Ciel, SailorHecate, TheAngelOfSilence, Sarah Coldheart, Sabaku no Mizu, selenoliber, wildandclear, Vasilisa23, buffyandspike-4ever, chickenass, MandaPandaAR, Karen, LemoN-X-DroP, Callia, Twighunter, Perceval23, Lrnd, princessangelita, Maru to Moro, moonlights desire, jka1, Chie, elbo, _and _Phinea._ You've all been great with the comments and support – sorry I've been terrible about responding individually but I was moving this week and things were insane – I promise I will write back to all signed reviews for this chapter, though! Cheers…

And here we are, twelve moons through. :-) I hope you all enjoyed it. And, I see that this story needs a bit of an epilogue, so never fear – I've written one and will post it soon. Thank you so much for reading!

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**When the Red Moon Rises**

With grey, cold eyes, Luna glanced to her left. She could not help looking at the red Dementor in all its grisly glory, floating along next to Harry Potter like a discoloured shadow. It might have been her overactive imagination, but she felt as though the Dementor wanted to swing her way and eat her soul as an appetizer to Voldemort.

She pressed her lips together and vowed to concentrate. A wave of nausea roiled in her stomach, but she pushed it away; it was an unexpected and dubious honour to have been given a place at the front guard of the Order.

They were on broomsticks, all of them, a party of at least three hundred. Even Luna wore the proper red cloak and it made her itch in discomfort; beneath the official robe she wore a plain white shift to guard her skin. The wind was uncomfortably cool on her scalp as she flew hard and fast, a thousand feet in the air.

Also to her left were Hermione Granger and Severus Snape, creating a welcome obstacle between Luna and the Dementor. Hermione was uncomfortable flying at such a pace and altitude and was complaining about it loudly to Snape, who kept rolling his eyes. Luna smiled to herself. Some things never changed.

It was not a long journey, over the hills and towards Death Eater headquarters, but it had to be coordinated with the ground forces. Looking over her shoulder Luna could see the head and shoulders of Grawp, crashing his way through grass and forest and brook, along with hippogriffs with Auror riders. They were supposed to take care of the Inferi and lesser demons that patrolled the outskirts of Death Eater headquarters. Other witches and wizards in the Order would Apparate once the wards had been disarmed and a secure perimeter established. Oh, yes, Luna was honoured to be the front guard. It meant her secret was safe.

The fog and mist grew thicker as they approached their target. A great bank of fog loomed in front of them, rising into their, lurking over the ground and obfuscating the view. It looked dark inside and Luna could see the occasional shape of a black Dementor flitting past. The black ones did not seem so frightening to her anymore, not compared to… she glanced again at Red.

'The first wards!' Snape shouted over the rushing wind.

The air grew heavier and thicker as their broomsticks plunged into the fog. Harry slowed everyone down. 'Lumos Charms, everyone!'

Luna followed the direction and used her wand to light the end of her broomstick. Glancing on either side she could see similar lights as the others did the same. Their formation did not break.

She grew more nervous as they flew. It was not the clammy dampness of the fog, or the sense of evil, or even the startled shouts as the Order cast powerful Patronus Charms against the defending Dementors. It was the proximity to showdown. Was this the much-anticipated final battle? Would everything be decided here, today? She almost laughed because it was never that simple. She had warned Voldemort and she knew he must have acted on the information. Harry might be in for a nasty shock and she was not sure whether that made her depressed or elated. Her mind was clouded, just like the air around her.

Then, just like that, the air cleared and the dark stone bulk of the Riddle House rose up to meet them. Luna pulled her broom back in shock. It was Unplottable, warded to the hilt. They could not be seeing the real thing. It was a trick.

Hermione obviously thought the same and shouted, 'It's a trap! It can't be the real headquarters! It's an illusion.'

But Luna, on closer inspection, saw that it was real. There was no telltale shimmering of magic, no cracks in the façade. She saw the bloodstained stone altar on the terrace, the greenhouses filled with plants she'd nursed, even the fluttering of a curtain in an open window. The place was utterly deserted. Slowly, cautiously, the Order touched down on the back lawn.

The red Dementor hunched beside Harry. It seemed agitated about something and kept lifting off the ground as though it wanted to go back into the fog.

_Natural,_ thought Luna, _perhaps it wants a mate_. She wondered for a brief and horrible moment about the Dementor breeding process and what it entailed; she decided some curiosities were better left unexplored.

Neville, Hermione, Harry, and Bill Weasley crept up the steps toward the house, wands drawn. Everyone else was silent in wait. Luna closed her eyes. He was not here. She _knew_ it, deep in her bones, that Voldemort was nowhere nearby. He had packed up his armies and left right under their noses. She would not be surprised if he was wreaking havoc in Muggle London or storming the Ministry of Magic of some other nation while Harry Potter poked around an abandoned building in isolated Derbyshire.

'He's not here,' Harry announced, standing on the terrace. His expression was hard and disappointed. 'My scar isn't even tingling. He's skulked away, the bloody coward. Even the Dementor guards were few and far between. He left a skeleton crew of Dark creatures and he ran away.' Harry then muttered a string of profanity which the rest of them did not catch.

'Now what?' came a red-robed cry. Luna did not recognise the voice.

Next to Harry, Hermione smiled and whispered something in his ear. They consulted for a moment, talking rapidly, and then both of them faced the crowd.

'We have an idea,' said Harry, and as soon as he said it Luna knew what it was. 'We don't have this Dementor without a purpose. It can track Voldemort.' Harry turned to the red Dementor and spoke in a low tone to it; instructions, Luna assumed. She shivered.

The Dementor raised its bony arm and pointed upward in the sky to the northeast.

They followed.

* * *

It was a risk, taking off without backup, but Harry Potter was so impatient to get to Voldemort and steal his life that his patience went extinct. They flew north as the sun died across the summer land. Every face was determined and brave save Luna's. There was no talking. 

The Dementor in the lead took them past towns and cities, electric lights winking on in the twilight, past shadowed mountains, past the crumbling remnants of Roman walls in the north and into the craggy highlands. _Of course,_ Luna thought, _the school is empty_. Had he been so bold as to take control of it? Or would they catch him before he could use the magic of old Hogwarts for himself?

'We're near to Hogwarts!' Harry shouted through the high-altitude gloom.

Fingers tightened on broomsticks, heads lowered in determination, and eyes narrowed. The party of three hundred was down to about fifty, spread out in a thin scraggly line with Harry front and center. He'd wanted a smaller, quieter, more trained group. A few more minutes' flying saw them approaching the grounds of famous, closed, tortured Hogwarts. Luna had never seen the castle from so high up. The fading light in the west did nothing to illuminate it; she had to rely on a different source of enlightenment.

Luna looked to the east and gasped.

Over the mountains a red moon rose. It was thick and bloated and the pale vivid colour of blood on snow. The face in it seemed to grin at them all. The fullness of it seemed gratuitous, a sphere far from perfect, mottled and blotched and the wrong hue altogether. A tear gathered in Luna's eye but it was whisked away as she flew.

The Order began a slow spiralling descent toward Hogwarts Castle. The grounds were dark and also appeared abandoned, but Luna did not miss Harry's quick motion, his hand to his forehead; his scar must be burning. She knew her own mark was restless, too. The Dark Lord was in close proximity.

In silent concert they moved, cloaked, Disillusioned, shaking. At about five hundred feet Luna saw the shadows on the ground, the cloaks and telltale flashes of spellcasting. Nearby Hogsmeade village was likewise alive with people (or monsters) and Luna figured that Voldemort must have quartered the Death Eaters there. The ground was seething with the army but they, the interlopers, remained unspotted.

Harry pulled his broom into a hovering position and so did the others, gathering around him like a bubble of protection. He spoke in a carrying whisper. 'We'll let the Dementor find him,' he said. 'I don't want to raise the general alarm. Cut off the head of the snake and the monster will die. I want every Death Eater to cry out in alarm when they realise the Dark Lord is already gone.' He gave them a savage grin that was returned by many. So, let's go. Quietly. Quickly. Let's get this done.'

This was it. Luna's broom moved downward with the rest of the Order as though it had a mind of its own. She wanted desperately to warn Voldemort but there was no way. No time left. Luna settled for a mental connection, _something_, to tell him she was near and she was regrettably not alone. She would never know if she got through to him or not.

The Red Dementor, eagerly sniffing, swooped down with Harry trailing a scant few feet behind. The scent was caught.

Luna found that she preferred being the prey to being the predator.

For all her years at Hogwarts, six years of wandering the castle and grounds, of exploring and learning and feeling the ancient thrum of magic woven into the stones, she had not seen everything and this was proven yet again. They followed the Dementor past the large quiet bulk of the castle, past the eerily silent Quidditch pitch, into a small grove of trees standing alone at the crest of the gentle roll of a hill. The air was thick and still and somehow charged; there was a ringing in Luna's ears and she felt her awareness expanding.

With a motion of his hand Harry directed the others behind him to touch down on the ground. They did, feet making nary a rustle on the damp grass, fifty breaths held. A fine mist clung to the ground, swirling around their feet. It was a consequence of Dark magic, not atmosphere or climate, Luna realised now. Off in the distance and over the hill she could see the Shrieking Shack, and wondered at the timeliness of it all that the Order left it and Voldemort took it and Hogsmeade was a like a single square on a chessboard; just a backdrop for a battle fought above it.

There were no Death Eaters in the vicinity of the grove. Luna knew they were nearby (she could feel her kindred close) but she also knew that Voldemort liked to be alone… especially when he was working powerful magic. His guards would have given him distance. In this case, his arrogance would be his undoing; Harry Potter still found him.

As if by telepathic command the red-robed Order spread out in a defensive ring around Harry as he stepped forward into the trees. Luna inched close to him, her wand shaking in her pale hand, and stinging of her Dark Mark lessoned as she went. Her feet crossed one after the other and her breath exited her mouth in short puffy clouds. For an instant she marvelled that she could remember to breathe at all.

A few trees in, Luna saw. Understood. Clarity once again, the moon (now orange) peeking through the trees. In the distance the tell-tale call of the werewolf howled.

The small grove of trees was more like a circle and inside of it was a graveyard. The Hogwarts graveyard. Luna knew one existed but she'd never come across it; there had never been anyone to visit there. The stones were older than old and covered with moss. The dead people were planted not in rows but in concentric circles like guardians. Sentinels, they were, for the central four stones were clear and looked fresh, as though hewn yesterday. The four Founders, together in death.

And kneeling down at the tombstone with the Slytherin crest upon it was Lord Voldemort himself.

He was there for a reason, of course, and it was not mourning for his long-dead ancestor. Luna knew there was ancient blood magic to be invoked and he likely had some use for Salazar Slytherin's bones or teeth or the rotted remnant of his wand. Grave-robbing and caught red-handed.

Luna heard something in the trees beyond and knew the guards, the Death Eaters, must be closing in even now. But it was unnecessary, as it turned out; Harry Potter was the only one with him in the graveyard proper, for the other members of the Order were circling the outside of the grove, perhaps not daring to come closer. The exception was Luna, who crouched beside a soft green rotted tombstone and held her breath and she could feel it when Voldemort stood up straight.

She also knew he was smiling when he said, 'Harry Potter,' without turning to face his enemy.

'Look at me,' Harry said in a ringing voice. It was a courageous thing to say but sounded loud, out-of-place in the hallowed ground, like an insult.

'You'd like to finish it?' Voldemort asked. 'Be my guest.' He still showed only his back. Luna knew what he was doing; he was trying to goad Harry into casting the Killing Curse and invoking the rebound magic.

But Harry, to Luna's great dismay, gave away everything. 'I'm not stupid,' he said to Voldemort. 'I won't make the same mistake you did. I know she was your daughter. I know you have blood protection against me.'

The Dark Lord turned then and Luna bit back the sob that threatened to reveal her (though he must, _must_ already know her hiding place) and on his face was the expression once longed for: the realisation that Luna had betrayed him. Only she knew Bellatrix had been his daughter; only she could have been the one to tell Harry Potter. It was a watershed moment in which Luna discovered herself truly loyal to him whom she loved; she wanted Voldemort to win for the sake of his happiness. However, he would not, and she had to accept that and act accordingly. She had to make sure he retained his dignity for it was the least she could do for him.

'Traitor,' Voldemort whispered.

Harry just smiled, oblivious to the cracking sound that was Luna's heart.

They took steps closer to one another, Harry and Voldemort, circling. 'You can't kill me,' said Voldemort, recovering himself, 'but I can kill you.'

Harry shrugged.

Then, as though reading each other's minds (a distinct possibility), the wands were drawn and curses were flying. From Voldemort's wand spewed the venomous green light of the Avada Kedavra and from Harry's wand came Dark, debilitating curses that would leave him alive. Alive as a meal. Luna cowered behind the headstone, whimpering, terrified to look up to see her worst nightmare made manifest. Past the woods and through the branches she was vaguely aware that the other Order members were dutifully parrying the Death Eaters on the scene; however, Luna did not hear any Killing Curses from them. It was as if both sides knew the end was nigh and they were half-heartedly duelling, waiting to see who won. Only then could decisions be taken.

It happened so quickly, as endings do.

'_Crucio_!_' _Voldemort screamed. It hit Harry hard, and the young man was writhing on the ground, screaming in pain, and Luna peeked over the stone to watch. Harry's twitching muscles caused him to drop his wand. His green eyes rolled back into his head and his hair stuck up all around him as though powerful jolts of lightning were coursing through his nerve circuits. Luna's mouth twisted down in empathy but she did not lift her wand to help him; in fact, she'd rather forgotten she had a wand at all.

Voldemort's triumphant expression was not pleasant to behold; his red eyes gleamed joyfully. The flow of power through him was tangible and ecstatic. Harry's voice sputtered out, vocal cords exhausted by the effort, and he was reduced to choking. Voldemort laughed, so high and so cold, and he lifted his eyes from Harry's writhing form and zeroed in on Luna.

She held his gaze for an eternal moment and then, reading her message, he snapped his eyes to the forest; out of the trees the red Dementor glided towards him, skeletal arms extended like an embrace, crimson cloth dripping. It came inexorably forward, unsympathetic to Harry's suffering on the ground, and went straight for its target.

Hermione would have been very proud to see its single-minded training.

The Cruciatus Curse was lifted from Harry Potter and he coughed and spluttered and curled up into a ball, silent tears of pain streaming down his cheeks. 'Bastard,' Harry managed to say.

With a wordless motion of his wand Voldemort conjured an extraordinary Patronus Charm. It was a huge, writhing snake, silvery beautiful and detailed with a scale pattern that looked like butterfly's wings. Luna could not help but wonder which happy memory he used that was so incredibly powerful. The glowing snake struck out toward the Dementor, but Luna gasped as the Red Thing paused, shied away, but resumed its hovering motion.

'Forward,' Harry commanded in a quiet, hoarse voice. 'Take him!'

Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue; Harry retorted with something. The Patronus snake was confused and finally wrapped itself around Voldemort in a protective shield.

'Take it!' Luna shouted. She startled herself, but she stood up anyway and took a step toward the magical maelstrom in the center of the graveyard. Her words were for the Dark Lord. 'Take it, please! It's better that way!'

'Luna, what the hell – ' Harry turned, seeing her for the first time. 'Get back! We've almost got him!'

But Luna did not hear.

Voldemort, inside his dwindling shield, raised his wand to Apparate away. There was a crack, a brief gust of wind, but he did not disappear. Luna knew it was the anti-Apparition wards the Order had been instructed to put up around Harry. They wanted Voldemort trapped, and trapped he was.

'Now!' Harry bellowed with a guttural cry. He pointed straight at Voldemort and began casting spells which Voldemort countered, one right after the other, keeping him distracted as the Dementor closed in.

'No,' Luna murmured. 'Stop!' None paid her heed, not man or beast… except Voldemort.

His eyes flicked down her body once and widened. He saw what was written there, in her posture and her eyes and inside her very being, and she smiled bravely for him. It was the way she imagined his mother, if he'd had one, might smile. '_Everything comes together in the end_,' she said in her mind.

Voldemort stared at her, shaking his head. 'I can't,' he said.

Her voice was reduced to a sobbing whisper that carried across to him. 'Take it. I'll see you on the Other Side.'

'No. You won't,' he said, and with a flash of his white hand toward his mouth, he took the pill (it had been just inside his sleeve) and bit down.

The Red Dementor, close and already dipping its head for the macabre kiss, screamed with rage as its quarry's life was snatched away; the soul was gone, moved on, the body crumpled and still. All was silent aside from the ghastly creature's enraged wheezes, and Luna's tears plinking down onto the soft springy earth.

Then, as though an enormous hole had opened up in the universe, a wave of magical energy grew and exploded outward, causing Harry and Luna to stagger back, bending the trees askew, and from beyond the grove she could hear shouts and screams and then silence. Several Order members crashed into the graveyard; Hermione's eyes were flashing victory, the others had broad grins on their faces as they took in the crumpled form of Lord Voldemort… Severus Snape was clutching his left forearm. Luna knew what people meant when they described a 'vacuum of power.' There it was in front of her.

'He's gone,' Harry stammered. 'Gone. Dead. He… just… died.'

Luna found herself unable to even cry. She just stared at the stone with the ornate crest of Slytherin and thought, '_What a waste_.' In front of it a dark tangled knot of magic was hovering in the air, dissipating fast, unraveling into smoky tendrils of nothingness.

'Severus!' Hermione's voice gasped. She was clutching Snape by the robes and euphoric disbelief came over her face as Snape pushed back his left sleeve. From her position, Luna could see: the Dark Mark was turning red, angry, painful, and fading… going… gone, like its creator. Snape stared down at his own arm and he was pale. Unreadable man as ever, Snape let his sleeve fall down his pure white arm and lifted his head to gaze with black, glinting eyes at the discarded body of the Dark Lord.

Harry began to laugh. His youthful strength had returned to him. It was bone-chilling to Luna if not to anyone else. 'I've eradicated every trace of him. He's gone. He'll never return. Vanquished forever…' A sigh of happiness. 'Nothing of him remains.'

With slow and deliberate motions, Luna glanced down at her own left arm, hidden beneath red robes. She chanced a peek at it, edging the fabric back, stepping into a shadow so that none would see the result.

Her Mark was intact. It was on her arm, vivid black on white, strong as ever. She watched it for a moment, waiting for it to fade and disappear as Snape's had, but there was nothing. _Why?_ It made no sense, unless –

Someone beyond the trees (it sounded like Theo Nott the Death Eater) shouted, 'He's gone!' with equal measures relief and despair. Then, 'Our Marks are gone, too!' So it was Luna left. With a vicious shove she moved her robe back down to conceal it.

The Order of the Phoenix was too busy congratulating themselves to notice Old Red the Dementor lift its grisly head and tilt as if sniffing the air. Hesitation was in its movements… at first. The Dementor swung around and then Luna found herself staring into the black hole that should have been its face. A scream of horror hovered at the back of her throat but got stuck there. She wanted to avert her eyes but found that she could not move.

The Dementor raised its arm and pointed at her. It began its movement, just like the dreams, just like the visions and the nightmares, and it whispered unspeakable things to her.

Closer.

Closer.

Luna was frozen in her terror. It wasn't fair, it simply wasn't fair, not now, not when she was –

'Oy! Watch it there!' Neville Longbottom's concern broke through Luna's haze of fear. 'Guys! The Dementor's attacking Luna!'

There was general outrage and scrambling; Luna did not notice this as she raised her wand and the memory erupted from her mind just as the serpentine Patronus charm erupted from the end of her wand and held off the Dementor for a moment, a mere moment, and Harry rushed over and called it off.

'Luna!' Neville's supportive hands were on her shoulders and his face floated in front of hers, concerned and confused. 'What happened? Are you all right?' Neville turned to Harry, shaking a finger at the cowed Dementor. 'What was that about? You need to get that – that _thing –_ under control!'

'Sorry,' said Harry, not sounding it, but at least he looked abashed.

Luna was still shaking in her shoes.

'That's odd,' said Hermione, staring in earnest over at Luna and glancing back to the red Dementor. 'It's keyed to Voldemort's magic. It shouldn't go after you…'

Luna lowered her eyes so that Snape couldn't see her; she prayed that Hermione did not guess the truth. All of a sudden grateful for her long red robes covering her arm, she just shrugged. 'Maybe Vol- _his_ – spirit is floating around here,' she said, waving vaguely and giving her friends that familiar dotty expression. 'Sometimes it takes a few minutes to move on, you know.'

'Doubt he had enough left for a spirit,' Harry spat. 'Or if he did, it's in hell now. I hope he was escorted there by his victims.'

They left her alone then, and Luna kept a close eye on the deathly creature as Minerva McGonagall escorted it away, out of the graveyard. Then the crowd was gathered around the body of Voldemort. He looked at peace, at odds with everything about his character, and his brow was smooth and unworried; his mouth was set in determination; his eyes were closed and his dark lashes made crescents against his white skin. The thin black robes he wore spread about his prone figure in a funereal way. They were a most appropriate shroud.

'Let's tear him apart,' said Bill Weasley with a wolfish grin on his face.

'I want his head,' said Ginny, who'd appeared at Harry's side, and she had a hard, flaming look about her.

'I think it's only fair,' Harry gloated. 'We want the world to see that he's dead. A few weeks rotting on the gate to Hogsmeade should do the trick. Just like he did to us.'

'Just his head, or all of him?' asked Hermione, as though it were a matter of technicality.

An unknown French Auror poked at Voldemort with a filthy shoe.

Neville, at least, shook his head and looked sorry for it all. His reaction meant more to Luna than she ever told him. Degradation of their enemy would degrade them and Luna wished she could communicate this to the others, but her tongue was a dead weight holding back the flood of tears. To speak would be to break the dam.

'Let's get the Death Eaters sorted first,' said Harry, breaking up their formation. 'Neville, Hermione, Snape, stay here and guard the body.'

The others were whispering, excluding her, heedless of her distress and of the tears now streaming unheld down her cheeks. _For the best,_ Luna told herself, _all for the best._ There was one last thing she had to do, a courtesy, her last act of devotion to him. Then she could collapse and rest and not wake up for a long time, like Sleeping Beauty.

Closing her eyes, Luna felt her memories thundering upon her, a million touches and glances and words that did not make her feel sad or sick at all. Torture and obloquy and mortification pressed in, too, of course, but for her purposes she could not remember it now. There would be plenty of time to work it out later.

She felt the power gathering at her solar plexus, unexercised muscle that it was, and her wand hand began to tingle. This would be done wordlessly. She had seen it done at her mother's funeral and knew it would be quite the impression. In her mind she rehearsed the spell; it shouldn't take more than a minute once it got going. With a quick glance at Hermione and Neville, she saw them faced the other direction. Perfect timing.

Flame sizzled out of her wand and Lord Voldemort's body was hovering a few feet over the ground; a conflagration of blue and gold and white surrounded it, and Luna watched, her face alight, as the transmutation took place. 'Goodbye,' she whispered.

_Out like a king, out like a priest, out like a god_, Luna thought as the fire consumed him. Tiny green sparks danced up and into the sky, turning the red moon something more manageable. A cool breeze lifted the tiny fine hairs on her cheek, drying the tears, and Luna lowered her wand and knelt down.

'HEY!' Hermione screamed.

Luna did not even start at the sound of her shrill voice.

'What's happening to him?' Neville wondered.

Snape frowned, and he knew what it was, of course, but he stared at Luna and did not say a word. Perhaps he wanted to say goodbye in a way. Perhaps he wanted the man to whom he'd sacrificed so much depart in a blaze of light, too, as a justification for the power he'd wielded in life.

At the end of it, no more than forty seconds, there was a grey pile of ashes on the ground (_Just like Abacus,_ Luna thought) and no chance for horrific displays of bodies on gates. The dead deserved respect, no matter who they were, for all things were unified on the other side. Luna had to believe that.


	25. Epilogue

**Author's Notes: **Thank you a million times, all you reviewers! _Sassy Chick 999, Mirrordjyn, Lightstream, SailorHecate, Lrnd, selenoliber, Callia, SSJ Leia, princessangelita, Sunshine Silverjojo, wildandclear, MandaPandaAR, PapayaCrazy, Sarah Coldheart, phinea, faerybox, Cloud Spinner, JustYourAverageReviewer, asdfs, Perceval23, LemoN-X-DroP, HRH Feline Queen, MisSs005, moonlights desire, MaskedKey, twighunter, sly-serpentine, MoreEverything, aliceandjasper, Alya Riddle, TheAngelOfSilence, _and _Maru to Moro_.

The reaction to this story has been far more than I ever anticipated. I'm glad I wrote it and I'm quite proud of it, mostly because of all the lovely and appreciative comments I've received from all of you! This is the epilogue but I will state now: there will _not_ be a sequel. The fate of Luna Lovegood will have to be up to your imaginations. :-)

The song that Luna sings at the end is Billie Holiday from the WWII era, 'I'll Be Seeing You.'

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Epilogue**

**A Conception of Love**

_Six moons later_

The cold white marble was so like his skin. Luna let her fingertips trail along the chill stone column that upheld a ceiling glittering and golden. It was fitting that this might be his last resting place. She read the epitaph, simple and unadorned: 'Here lie the ashes of the Dark Lord defeated by Harry Potter, with the help of Albus Dumbledore.'

'They still can't say your name,' Luna whispered to it.

There were a few hushed whispers as more people entered the museum, the Albus Dumbledore Memorial, newly-minted and thrown up in the wake of Harry's victory. It was off of Diagon Alley and the pretty domed spire at the top was the tallest thing in wizarding London. Built and funded by Harry, with the aid of donations, the space was a war memorial, a tale of 'the greatest wizard that ever lived,' the late Dumbledore. Divided into sections of early life, known portraits, teaching years, alchemical work, and leadership of the Order of the Phoenix, the only breaks to white austere marble were the red-and-gold flags and displays. Luna thought the whole thing was very unlike Dumbledore. It was too bare.

She sighed and etched the words of Voldemort's plaque with an absent finger. A low rumble sounded in her stomach; she was hungry and she thought about chocolate. It reminded her of the first time she'd tasted him. The horrified murmurs behind her alerted her that she was not alone in her sight. As she turned, her blonde hair flared a little behind her shoulders, as though it were a dress, an accessory. Her grey eyes met the gawping stares of a group of middle-aged witches who pointed and tittered at the Dark Lord's place behind her.

'That was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,' one of them whispered.

'Not so high and mighty now, is he?' another one giggled. 'You better be careful, girl. You don't want to be anywhere near 'im!'

It was more than Luna could take. She stepped away from the group, casting a look back at the unremarkable state of Lord Voldemort, wondering what he would become in future years. A bogeyman to scare children with. 'Be careful, or Voldemort will get you in your sleep!' He'd always gotten Luna in _her_ sleep.

Into bright sunshine she stepped. It was a Tuesday afternoon and Diagon Alley was busy. Happy. Peaceful. Prosperous. Shops were re-opened, with wizards and witches clustered in groups talking and bargaining and sharing news. A small group of children had their noses pressed against the window of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, exclaiming over the latest line of tricks. A tiny breeze lifted Luna's hair as she descended the hard marble steps from the Dumbledore Memorial and into the throng.

She stopped and bought some chocolate, dark imported stuff from Mexico, and popped a piece into her mouth as she walked. She enjoyed the thought that it was turning her tongue black. Gringotts Bank was next; Luna needed to take a withdrawal and then she would use their Floo Network to get home. At this point, Apparating was not feasible.

She saw no one she knew as her heels clicked on the cobblestones. A relief, for people meant questions, and too many knew about how she had been in the Dark Lord's company, those months ago. Too many might guess.

'The Lovegood living room!' she shouted after her business at Gringotts, flinging down Floo powder with a flourish of her graceful hand and suppressing the urge to throw up as a dozen rooms spun in front of her eyes. She stepped out, feeling relieved and very nauseated.

In the garden she sat beneath the willow tree. The blades of grass between her bare toes waved at her, bright with their season's growth, so green it hurt the eyes to look. The birds chirped and the small insects came out of their winter's sojourn and into the light. On a small knoll, not too far away, was the young sapling of a yew tree, planted six months ago. It was doing well. Neville had given some recommendations as to how to water it. Luna enjoyed her trees and she enjoyed the crisp March sunshine as she sat. It was the Death Moon this month.

With an unconscious gesture, Luna caressed the firm swell of her belly, just starting to become obvious. It was her first pregnancy, of course, so she did not show as soon. But the Other heartbeat was strong and healthy inside her. A life, from death itself. She whispered things to it, sang songs, heard the baby boy inside her with his small still voice. For it was a boy, _his_ son growing, _his_ immortality. She felt as though she knew him already, and wondered what their son would look like. A handsome boy, of course; she hoped he would look like his father.

The elder Mr. Lovegood came out of the house with a tray of sandwiches. 'Are you hungry, Luna?' he asked.

'No, Daddy,' she said. 'I ate some chocolate. It was enough.'

'You're eating for two. Here, have a ham-and-cheese.'

Luna's mouth twisted up in a smile. 'Fine.'

'Have you decided yet?'

'Yes,' said Luna, looking up into the kind, wrinkled face of her father. He'd aged so much during her captivity; he looked twice as old as he was.

'I'll hate to see you go, daughter,' he said. 'To travel in your third trimester…'

'I know. But I have to. I can't explain why, exactly, but I don't feel safe here in Britain.'

'Is it because of Harry Potter?' Mr. Lovegood said darkly. 'His latest speech to the Wizengamot was worrying. Rules and regulations are no way to prevent Dark magic. A free press, now there's the ticket…'

'I know, Daddy,' Luna said. She did not want him guessing the truth of what she carried in her womb, so she avoided further conversation about Harry Potter and his quest to eliminate Dark Magic. For all her father assumed, the child was Neville's, and Luna was just being modern about it. Sometimes his tendency to jump to conclusions worked in her favour.

'So?' said Mr. Lovegood, kneeling on the grass next to his daughter. 'Where will it be?'

'India,' said Luna. 'I'll move to India.'

* * *

She had not chosen the place randomly. It was called _Asrayaswal_, meaning 'haven' in the native Hindi, and it was a tiny wizarding village in the hills above the Muggle city of Darjeeling, India. The sacred five peaks of Kangchenjunga loomed nearby. The winter snows had yet to melt, but Luna did not find it a hardship, for her small stone hut was cozy and sturdy. It had five rooms, all of them circular with rough-hewn walls; the house reminded her of the mountain. One of the rooms was already turned into a nursery in anticipation of the baby, who would arrive in a month or so. 

Luna, who looked all sticks-and-balloons with thin limbs and a round belly, waved her wand to set the water boiling. 'How much sugar?' she asked Prema, her friend.

'Two spoons,' said the older woman. Prema was a midwife and trained Healer, among other things, and in her nineties. Her hair was prematurely white, for a witch, and looked stark and beautiful against her dark Indian skin. With black, warm eyes she glanced sharply over Luna's form. 'I hope he comes mid-April. There is a special alignment that month, during the full moon in Scorpio. It would be good luck.'

Luna smiled. 'I think he will.' She was not a believer in astrology, or hadn't been until she came to India and learned the ancient Vedic ways. Several strange predictions given her by her Indian astrologer had opened her mind (which, for Luna Lovegood, did not take much effort). She'd had her own set of premonitions about her son… he would be a powerful wizard. That much was clear.

Luna poured the milky, sugared chai into glass cups and handed one to Prema. They settled by the fire. 'Have you thought about names?' Prema asked.

'Not yet,' said Luna. 'I'll give him a name when I look in his eyes. Then I'll know.'

'Wise,' Prema nodded. 'Best to let the child speak for himself. They always have minds of their own, even from the start.' She let out a cackling, comforting laugh. 'Your son will take after you, I predict. A kind heart. Good as gold, all the way through.'

'I hope so,' Luna whispered into her cup of chai. Through her mind flashed images of the father, who was anything but good… yet somehow, she knew the child would be all right. Only once had she penetrated Voldemort's insanity to find his true divine face, but that night, that love, had resulted in her pregnancy. That one fact made it welcome. Luna would love her son as she'd loved his father: without conditions. A smile graced her pretty face and she spoke aloud in the direction of her belly. 'My darling boy, such a joy!'

Prema sang them a song, an ancient lullaby from the Bhagavad Gita, the holy poem. Luna felt her eyes start to close. The late-season snow fell outside, soft and gentle, blanketing the wizard's village in purity.

* * *

The high mountain places of the world were temperamental. Luna discovered this when spring arrived on the same day as her baby. She woke up one morning with the first, minor birth pangs, and outside her door the remaining snow was melting fast. The air was warm and fragrant, bringing the promise of blossoms, and as the snow turned into merry rivulets down the mountainside, Luna thought it sounded like music. The tinkling of bells. She pressed her hands to her belly and sent off a Patronus charm to Prema, with the message to come to the cottage. 

Luna's Patronus was now a large swirl of a snake that looked something like Nagini. It had not always been, of course, but such things were known to change with good memories. Prema had commented that the snake did not match up with Luna at all, but had fallen silent at the look on Luna's face. There was much the Healer, for all her compassion, could not be told.

It was mid-April, Luna noted, and full moon. This birth was fortuitous. She grimaced as a stronger cramp tore through her belly and she remembered what she had read about childbirth: it was most difficult the first time a witch had a baby. She took deep breaths, in one nostril and out the other, balancing her body's energy. She spoke in soft tones to the baby, still inside, to reassure it that it was welcome.

'He's coming?' Prema asked, her round face spread into a wide grin, as she popped her head in the open window. 'Get in your bed, child, so I can prepare everything.' Prema bustled around to the front door and entered, carrying a basket full of potions and cloth.

Luna was in labour all day and into the night. The pain was intense, screaming, but somehow exquisite too. As the full April moon grew over her head, the baby came, a healthy son.

* * *

That first month, when her belly was flat again, Luna wrote an article about the mythical Starblossom flower and sent it to her father in England, where it was published in _The Quibbler_. It had her byline, although no one in the Order was aware that she was abroad. For all they knew, she was still in Devon with her dad. There had been rumours that Luna was pregnant, but that was unconfirmed. Even Ginny was in the dark… especially Ginny. Her husband was paranoid and would put it together in an instant. 

Luna was not sure they'd destroyed the Red Thing, the Dementor, and the thought of it terrified her. If it was still sniffing about under Harry's orders, that could turn into a large problem for her and the baby. It reinforced her decision to raise her boy overseas. The child's father had known India and the world beyond; she wanted to attain that worldliness, too.

The Himalayan Mountains were wrinkled and crisp like stiff white cotton rising above her head. Daffodils bloomed in the garden, and as spring grew warm, great swarms of butterflies flew languidly through the air. They came in droves of thousands, all colours, and Luna had never seen anything like it. She sat in the garden outside of the stone house and watched the clouds of butterflies. From the Indian Wizarding Wireless, the rhythmic, jangling beat of music made Luna's feet twitch in her pretty shoes.

She wrote letters to her remaining acquaintances, to Ginny and Neville and Severus and Hermione (the latter two had been married), though she could never tell them the biggest news of all. A part of her wondered if Severus had guessed the truth about her condition, but deep inside she knew he would never say a word. Always mysterious, even the prying Hermione would not have wrested everything from him.

In those early days, when the baby was brand-new and they were far away from everything, Luna would sit him on her lap and sing him a soft little song.

'_I'll find you in the morning sun… and when the night is new…_

_I'll be looking at the moon… but I'll be seeing you…_'

The baby (whose name was Seth) stared up at her with cool, perceptive grey eyes beneath a tiny patch of fine dark hair. He seemed to know of whom she sang.


End file.
